


The Serpent Under It

by Fyre, Tarek_giverofcookies



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Human Aziraphale, Megamind AU, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28892223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarek_giverofcookies/pseuds/Tarek_giverofcookies
Summary: Some people are born great. Some have greatness thrust upon them. And some – at a few weeks old – are punted across the universe in an escape module to save them from their planet’s destruction.I never asked to be a supervillain. I just sort of ricocheted vaguely downwards.Megamind AU
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 219
Kudos: 222
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> July 2019, I started making Megamind AU noises and now, here I am :D This is part of the Reverse Bang Event run by Do It With Style (obviously) & tarek_giverofcookies is my lovely artist :)
> 
> Updating every Thursday.

So here’s my day so far: went to jail, lost my best friend, and got my arse handed to me on a silver platter.

Still, things could be worse.

Oh.

That’s right.

I’m doing a 60 million light year nose dive into a pool of burning sulphur.

Okay, not the sulphur. Or light years. Probably closer to 300 metres and a nice splat-friendly stretch of tarmac.

So yeah. No. Not really any better.

Bet you’re wondering how I ended up here.

My end starts at the beginning.

The very beginning.

______________________

Some people are born great. Some have greatness thrust upon them. And some – at a few weeks old – are punted across the universe in an escape module to save them from their planet’s destruction.

Funny how things turned out when you were fired into space by your doting parents – there had been something about fate, blah blah blah, destiny – as their planet exploded. And then there was the glitter of the stars, the sparkle of the cosmos.

And _then_ , in that ‘fate’ thing his parents must’ve been on about, there _She_ was.

What were the chances of two space babies crossing paths? Infinitely small, probably. And when her tiny gleaming golden shuttle bashed into his, he didn’t so much fall from the sky as ricochet vaguely downwards, pinballing off half a dozen buildings before crash-landing in the grounds of St. Beryl’s Prison for the Criminally Brilliant.

_She_ conveniently crash-landed in the grounds of Tadfield manor. Because of course she did. And she grew up tall and glowy and magical and he had a funny feeling she probably had a pony called Fidget. She always seemed like the kind of person to be daft about horses. He’d never liked the things, all big and hoofy.

Naturally, they became nemeses. Her with her flying and her super strength and lazer vision and lightning power, taking the very understated name of Divine. Him with his… imagination and slightly snakey motifs choosing the much more appropriate name of Serpent after the first and most underestimated corrupter in human history.

Totally fair and balanced fights, obviously. Which was why, yet again, Crowley was back behind bars in St. Beryls.

The livestream from Tadfield plaza had been playing on the TV in the common room all morning, which meant – of course – it was playing in Crowley’s cell as well. Tadfield wouldn’t want anyone to miss out on a moment of Divine Day footage. Especially not the person who famously never defeated her.

He spun the chair, humming to himself.

This time around, he’d only been in a few months. Plenty of time for them to think they had him beaten. Ha! It wasn’t as if he hadn’t grown up there.

After his Evil Lair™, St. Beryl’s was a second home. He even had his own cell, decorated to his tastes, with a few of his plants well looked after by the guards whenever he broke out and caused chaos.

He spun the chair again, waiting, until he heard the warden snap at the guard outside his door.

Right on time.

Crowley grinned, slithering off the chair and ducking out of sight just inside the door. Maybe it was a petty, but sometimes, the old ones were the best. He’d had a whale of a time gluing coins to Tadfield’s pavements last time he was loose.

The viewing hatch widened and he waited just long enough for the warden to make spluttered sounds of panic before popping up.

“Boo!”

Michael’s brow dropped into a glare. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you, Serpent?”

Crowley threw himself back into his oversized spinny chair. He’d always liked them for dramatic reveals. “Bit of fun, eh, warden?”

“Fun.” The warden glowered even more.

“And some great news!” A push of his foot sent the chair whirling. “I’m a changed man! Prison has reformed me! I’m ready to go out and get a… what did you call them? A ‘job’!”

The warden seemed even more unimpressed. “You’ve been a rather bad villain,” he said disdainfully. “Don’t think your sidekick’ll get you out of here this time.”

“Aww,” Crowley pouted. “You’re no fun.” He gave Michael a winning smile. “So what have I done for you to grace me with your presence on this glorious Divine Day?”

“Speak of the devil,” the warden snorted, holding up a box. “She sent you a present to mark the occasion.”

“Is it the key to my cell?” Crowley clasped his hands together eagerly.

It was a sleek watch, high-tech and beautifully made. “To mark every one of your ninety life sentences,” the warden read with a laugh. “Didn’t think Divine was a gloating type, but she _does_ have stylish taste.” He held it up mockingly. “I think I’ll keep it.”

Sometimes, humans could be so very, _very_ predictable.

“Any chance you could give me the time?” Crowley inquired innocently. “I’d hate to miss the opening of the Divine Museum.”

The warden gave the watch a cursory glance, never noticing the blinkie red light that flashed over his face. Who would, when there was gloating to be done, after all? “Looks like you’re going to be late by a couple of centuries.”

He stepped back, the hatch in the door sliding closed.

“Eh,” Crowley said, reclining back in his chair. “Give it five minutes.”

________________________

The crowd really was very impressive, if a little overwhelming.

It was to be expected at the unveiling of the museum to honour Divine. Tadfield’s own superhero was expected to make an appearance to open the museum herself and for the crowd, the chance to see her without the risk of impending doom merited it.

Aziraphale adjusted his bowtie and smoothed down his shirt front, taking refuge in the fact that the small press-corps were on the less crowded side of the security barrier and wouldn’t get caught in the crush.

“Right,” he murmured to himself, opening up his notepad. “We’re gathered here to celebrate a woman who has taken the city to her heart and have saved us more times than we can know.” He frowned, scratching it out and adding another in instead. “Everyone deserves a hero. Only Tadfield is lucky enough to have one who calls our city home.”

“Churning the cheese, buddy?”

Aziraphale glanced up from his pad. “I beg your pardon?”

Gabriel West scoffed. The main on-site reporter for Vulpine Studios, the man had a knack for making everyone else in the press corps look as if they had just stumbled out of bed. His hair was always perfect, his teeth almost too white, his jaw jutting, his suits sharp as a razor.

“You and your songs of praise for Divine,” he said. “You should leave the reporting to the professionals, Ezra.”

“It’s Aziraphale, actually.” Aziraphale bristled. Yes, it was true that his little channel on the youtube – set up by his assistant – was hardly a sparkling professional creation, but he like to show his appreciation for their hero and for some reason, people liked to hear from him.

“Course it is.” Gabriel rocked on the balls of his feet. “Look at these guys! Can you believe it?” He socked Aziraphale on the arm. “I haven’t see a crowd like this in ages.”

Aziraphale smiled wanly. “Yes,” he agreed. “It’s not surprising, though. Everyone loves her.”

“Sure they do,” he said. “Who doesn’t love someone who sweeps in and saves the day and doesn’t even charge?”

Aziraphale raised his eyes skywards and fiddled with his microphone. “Well, she _is_ a hero, Gabriel. That’s what heroes do.” He forced another smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go and set up with my team.”

Technically, it was a team of one, young Newton Pulsifer, who gave him a crooked grin as he marched purposefully over.

“Gabriel again?” he said, adjusting the camera on his shoulder.

Aziraphale slanted a look back at the ridiculous man and his team of make-up and camera people. “Honestly, you’d think being a superhero was a cause celebre,” he grumbled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s tried to advise her on apparel or a biography or… or… or whatever celebrities are selling these days.”

Newt just laughed. “Probably why she prefers us to do the interviews, eh?” He gave Aziraphale a knowing look. “You’ve always been her favourite.”

“Oh hush,” Aziraphale flapped a hand. “Don’t you start. Just because someone rescues you from a villain a couple of times–”

“Nine.”

“A _couple_ of times doesn’t mean anything.” Aziraphale made a face. “It’s hardly my fault that the foul fiend thinks the tabloids are right.” He glanced up at the museum with the fancy curtain waiting to reveal some no-doubt gaudy statue. “I suppose we should do a lead in before she arrives.”

“Right!” Newt pressed a couple of the buttons on the camera, then frowned. “Um.”

“The battery?” Aziraphale said with a rueful chuckle.

“Sorry,” Newt mumbled. “I checked it this morning.”

It was practically part of their filming ritual at this stage, Aziraphale mused as he hurried over to Newt’s small van. The poor boy’s idealistic hopes of a future in television had been perpetually stymied by his bad luck with the very equipment he adored.

They’d grown so used to it that they kept a permanent stack of fully charged batteries just in case of emergencies.

Aziraphale pulled open the back door of the van, humming to himself as he riffled through the camera bag to find them. One and a spare, just to be on the safe side.

“Scuse me.” Someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Aziraphale straightened up at once. “Can I help–” He turned to meet the sunny grin on a very familiar face. Bloody _Eric_ , minion of the Serpent. Holding up an equally familiar and unwelcome spray can. “Not ag–”

The can sprayed and Aziraphale’s world went black.

_________________________________________

There was some kind of ruckus going on in the prison.

Crowley arranged his chair to face the door, then crouched down behind it. The shouts and protests were growing louder by the moment. He idly checked the scales across the back of his hand, giving them an industrious buff with his sleeve, then smiled when the door slid open.

“Let go of me,” someone was yelling with his voice and in the reflection on the TV screen, he could see someone who looked oh so much like him, right down to the prison scrubs. “I’m the warden, you idiots!”

“Like we’re going to fall for that again!”

There were four of them, all trying to pin the unfortunate Serpent-looking person down and not one of them noticed Crowley dip his hand into the fray of flailing scaly limbs and whip the watch off the not-Serpent’s wrist.

Convenient thing about fighting a super-powered hero meant you had to be damn quick on your feet and he was out of the door before the projection fully faded. The guards’ angry cries turned to yelps of panic as they realised they’d just chained their boss to a chair.

And behind them, the door slammed closed.

Crowley paused and gave them an amiable little wave through the viewing pane – after all, you had to Villain the right way.

“You were right,” he said, clipping the watch on around his wrist. A turn of the dial and a new projection masked him in a hologram that just happened to look exactly like the warden, who was mouthing some _very_ rude words through the glass. “I’ll always be a villain.”

And slamming the viewing hatch closed on that lovely, secure and – most importantly – soundproof cell, he headed for the exit.

Estimated turnaround for the guards to notice he was missing gave him ten minutes to take a leisurely stroll all the way through the prison, not one of the guards giving him a second look. The warden would never’ve left during his shift but even the guard on the gates just waved him through.

“Sloppy, Michael,” Crowley sighed, shaking his head. “You’re going to have to talk to your people about this.”

Ahead of him, a small square of the view disappeared, revealing the inside of a car.

“All right, boss?” Eric pushed the door of his beloved invisible Bentley open. He’d upgraded his patched coat to a leather jacket, with frayed fishnet and suitably villain’s-aide black underneath it.

Crowley grinned as Eric scrambled over onto the passenger seat and then slid in behind the wheel himself. “Right on time.” He glanced into the back seat at the sound of snoring. “And you got Sleeping Beauty as well. Good job.”

Eric beamed happily. “Can’t have you languishing on Divine Day after all, boss.”

“No,” Crowley agreed, curling his fingers over the steering wheel as alarms started blaring in the prison. “We can’t.”

The engine roared as they drove back towards the city, by-passing the bustling chaos of the downtown area and heading towards the current Evil Lair™. No one even noticed them, one of the benefits of the invisible car.

Crowley swung out of the car as soon as the doors closed behind them. “There’s no place like Evil lair,” he said happily, grinning as a fleet of pseudo-Erics rushed down the hall towards them. Not technically clones, they were somewhere between artificial intelligence and overgrown hedges, though for some reason, they all looked identical to the human who had raised them. “There’s my shrubs!”

“They definitely missed you,” Eric said, as the shrubberies stripped Crowley out of his prison uniform and dressed him up in Evil Costume number 7.

It was one of the flashier ones he always kept for angel-abductions, black and fitted with a hint of scaly red patterning up the sleeves and over the boots and ankles. The high collar was nicely spiky and the silver chain clipped from collar to belt made sure everything stayed fitted and didn’t sag.

“ _Much_ better,” he sighed, shoving his fingers through his hair to tousle it up. “How do I look?”

Eric wolf-whistled. “Sin on legs, boss.” He stooped to haul their captive out of the car, hoisting the reporter over his shoulder.

Fell gave a grunt, his snores tapering off as Eric staggered under his weight.

“He’s waking up!” Crowley bolted across the floor to the large round display room.

Giant screens were suspended on one wall, gleaming consoles and computers connected up and all the screens illuminated. It looked like all the best Bond-villain lairs, minus a volcano or two. Crowley threw himself down into his ornate chair with all the gizmos and buttons, snapping his fingers and motioning for a couple of the shrubberies to take up positions on either side of him.

Eric set their captive down on the chair in the middle of the room, quickly tying him down. He’d learned the hard way how fast he needed to do it. There was that one time with the fencing foil that no one wanted to remember.

With a glance at Crowley, Eric whipped the bag off Fell’s head.

Pink-cheeked and glaring, the man gave Eric a dirty look. “Was that absolutely necessary? You could have just _asked_.”

Crowley cleared his throat loudly. “Mr. Fell! We meet again.”

Those glowering hazel eyes turned to him and rolled expressively. “Oh no,” he said in a monotone. “The Serpent.”

Crowley glared back at him, but no. No. He could handle this particular captive. He’d done it before and he could do it again. “Plead all you like, Mr. Fell. No one can hear you.”

Aziraphale Fell stared at him and very slowly and deliberately raised an eyebrow.

Supervillains weren’t meant to get flustered, damn it! They definitely weren’t meant to blush under the hard stare of their captive. “Eric!” he snapped. “Why isn’t he pleading for mercy?”

Eric leaned down. “F’you don’t mind, Mr. Fell. He’ll be in a mood all–”

“Eric!” Crowley snapped. Definitely snapped. Not squeaking or anything.

“Honestly, one would imagine you could find a new theme, dear boy,” Fell said, tutting and shaking his head. “Look at this place, for Heaven’s sake! Do you copy all your designs from the latest spy films? I expect you don’t even know what half these gizmos do.” He peered around. “Do you have a big red button somewhere hereabouts?”

“Actually, it’s over–”

Crowley shot out of his chair. “Eric! Don’t fall for his cunning reporter tricks!” He sauntered closer, bending down to stare their prisoner in the eye, bracing his hands on the back of Fell’s chair. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Mr. Fell?” He flashed a glimpse of his needlepoint-fangs. “Your nosy reporter skills won’t work on me.”

“Darling,” Mr. Fell leaned forward in his restraints. “You have _nothing_ worth reporting.”

Crowley reared back in indignation. “Oh really! I’d like to know what you make of”– he lunged over to the control panel–“this!”

Even as the trapdoor around the chair opened, Fell sighed. “Oh look. A pit full of snakes.”

Crowley flushed, hitting another button. He had a fantastic array of booby traps and terrifying weapons, from guns to lasers to spikes to the giant metal venus fly-trap that could snap shut around the man.

“Really, dear?”

“This one–”

“You used that twice before and it was no more impressive then.”

“But what about–”

“I’ve seen better.”

Frantically, Crowley pummelled more and more buttons. “Aha!”

Fell gave him an amused look through the wall of fire. “A flame-thrower? Honestly, I thought you might have something a little more unique.”

With a huff, Crowley sagged back in his chair, slapping the button to snuff the flames.

“Oh!”

“What?” he demanded waspishly, glowering off to the side. “Am I sitting too villainously?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen the spider before. Fascinating!”

Crowley whipped his head around. “Eh?”

Fell was leaning forward as much as the ropes would allow, peering at a small spider that had descended from the ceiling on a long strand of web. “What a handsome little fellow.”

Crowley darted a sidelong look at Eric, who gave him a panicked shake of his head. “Oh! Yes!” Crowley declared, swinging back to his feet. “The terrible aranichus deathicus!” He prowled closer, smirking. “Just one bite is enough to–”

Fell blew the bloody thing right in his face.

“GYAH!” Crowley yelped, batting at it. Eric lunged in to help and only succeeded in belting him right across the mouth.

Fell made a sound of amusement. “Really, Serpent, you should retire gracefully. This is just getting embarrassing.”

Crowley scrambled back to his feet. “Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, rubbing his face. He stalked back to the consoles, slapping several of the computers, and the screens lit up. “Time to let your high and mighty know you’re in trouble again.”

______________________________________

Aziraphale carefully pulled against the ropes securing him to the chair.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Eric had learned his lesson about making sure they were actually tight enough to hold him, which meant there would be no escape attempts this time. He sighed, shifting and making himself as comfortable as he could.

On the far side of the room, the Serpent was muttering rude things under his breath.

Aziraphale had to admit he was looking very villainous today. The black suit with its blood-red scales contrasted very well with the flaming red of his hair and the shimmering black scales that lapped along his hairline and jaw. It really was a very… fitted suit as well. Hardly possible to miss that, especially with the Serpent stooping over his machines.

“I suppose a cup of tea is out of the question?” he inquired mildly.

The Serpent shot a warning look at his minion. “No,” he growled grumpily, slapping at some buttons on his computers. “No tea. No cakes. No frou-frou cocktails with umbrellas in them again. You’re a _prisoner_.”

Out of the Serpent’s line of sight, Eric mouthed “Sorry!”

“So what’s the plan?” Aziraphale asked, always more than happy to distract the daft villain. “You tie me up, tell Divine where we are, she comes and kicks you around the room a few times, and then hurrah! You go back to prison?” When there was no reply, he prodded again. “I suppose it’s a generous gift for her on Divine Day?”

“No!” The Serpent whipped around. “I _have_ a plan!”

“Of course you do, dear,” Aziraphale nodded consolingly. “And I’m sure it’ll succeed just like every plan you’ve had before.”

A couple of feet away, Eric stifled a snort in his ragged sleeve.

The Serpent hissed petulantly and slammed his hand down on a laptop.

Screens blazed to life, showing Tadfield Plaza. The crowd was substantially bigger and undulating wildly, arms aflail. And there, in front of the museum, Divine was hovering several feet above the ground, resplendent in white and gold, haloed from behind.

“Do you have audio?” Aziraphale asked.

The Serpent made a face at him. “I don’t need to hear a word she’s saying,” he grumbled, then mocking mimicked her. “Oh, don’t thank me, dear citizens of Tadfield. I’m only doing what any good and merciful and hypocritical old phony would do! I could save you from _all_ the disaster in the world, but oh, how convenient, I just show up in the nick of time.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake!” Aziraphale snapped testily. “She works very hard! You can hardly her expect to fix everything!”

The Serpent grinned nastily at him. “And yet, here you are. Abducted again. Couldn’t even protect you, could she?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips in irritation.

On the screens dark clouds were gathering and the Serpent touched a button so the screams of panic from the plaza were audible. Spiralling bots whirled overhead in the plaza, carrying vast glowing panels.

“Serpent!” Divine’s face blazed. “You fiend.”

At once, the Serpent’s face lit up on the screens carried by his circling flying bots. “Am I late? Did I miss the party?”

“Can’t be late when you were never invited,” Divine retorted, rising to hover in front of one of the screen.

“Oh.” The Serpent feigned sorrow. “Must’ve lost my invitation in the post. I’ll just have to enjoy the company of” – another screen filled and Aziraphale winced as his face was suddenly on display in 10-foot high screens, flying over the plaza –“your dear angel!”

Divine reared back. “No!”

“Yes, I know,” Aziraphale sighed. “Again.”

“And you’ll never see him again!” The Serpent shouted gleefully, “Unless you leave Tadfield!”

A roar of boos and screams rose up from the crowd.

“D’you hear that, Eric?” The Serpent laughed. “I don’t think they like me very much.”

“Don’t panic, Aziraphale!” Divine called.

“I’m not,” Aziraphale called back helpfully.

“I’m on my way!” Divine whirled in the air, no doubt using her rather impressive x-ray vision.

“Ha! Do you think that old hat will work?” The Serpent crowed.

Aziraphale glanced around, taking in the lights and diodes and prominent domed roof. “We’re in the abandoned observatory!” he called.

“No!” the Serpent screeched, slapping at buttons. “We’re not! Don’t listen to him! He’s a youtube personality! What do they know?”

On the screen, Divine shot out of sight.

Aziraphale raised his eyes ceilingwards. “You really aren’t very good at this, are you?”

To his surprise, the Serpent just grinned. “Aren’t I?”

“Divine approaching, boss,” Eric called over from another screen.

The Serpent’s grin widened and he reached back and tapped another button. A heretofore blank screen lit up, showing the interior of a vast domed building, not unlike the one they were currently inside. Only this one was empty, right up until the moment Divine burst through the doors, which clanked closed behind her.

“Oh good Heavens!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “This–”

“Isn’t the observatory you were looking for?” The Serpent snapped his fingers. A panel of the wall slid aside, showing the real old observatory on a hilltop a mile away. “Ready the Death Ray, Eric!”

“On it!” Eric piped up eagerly.

The Serpent laughed. “Up here, Sparkles!” He waited until Divine spotted the camera, looking up into the screen. “Looks like I’ve got you right where I want you!”

Divine turned on the spot. In the gloom of the abandoned observatory, she shone like a beacon. “You should be careful what you wish for, Serpent!”

“Oh, in this case, you’re the one who should take care!” The Serpent leaned into his camera, baring his teeth.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake…” Aziraphale groaned quietly.

“I do take care!” Divine shouted back, “Of all the people of Tadfield!”

A low roar came from the crowd, who were apparently still seeing everything that was happening on the Serpent’s giant screens.

“Not well enough!” The Serpent jabbed a finger towards Aziraphale. “How many times are you going to let this one slip through your fingers?”

“Not once!” Divine gave a huge and deliberate wink at the camera. “He knows he’s safe in my hands.”

“If only he wasn’t in _my_ hands now.”

“For goodness sake!” Aziraphale burst out. “Yes, yes, you’re both splendid and cunning and all that. Can I get back to my shop, please?”

The Serpent laughed sharply. “Of course! If Divine can stand the full concentrated power of the sun!” He jabbed a finger towards Eric. “Fire!”

In the staggering silence that followed, the only sound was the tap of a keyboard.

“NGH!” The Serpent spun around. “Eric! Fire!”

Eric turned with a cautious smile. “Just warming up, boss.”

Aziraphale had to avert his face and bite his lip to hide his smile.

“Warming up?” The incredulity in the Serpent’s voice was heartwarming. “The _sun_ is warming up?”

Eric nodded, tapping the screen. “We’re at eighty percent. Almost there.”

The Serpent pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “You– I– ngh.” He swung around and stamped over to the console where Eric was working. “What?”

“Just a minute or two more…”

“You were meant to have this ready!”

Eric turned pink. “I did!”

The Serpent flailed wildly at the screens. “You call _this_ ready?”

“Why do you always blame me?”

Aziraphale watched them with amusement. “Well, this has been a lot of fun, gentlemen, but it’s about time you admitted your plan has failed.”

Eric snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

“Hey!” The Serpent slapped him on the arm. “Who’s side are you on?”

“The losing side?” Aziraphale suggested sweetly.

“Oi!”

Aziraphale gave him a warm smile. “Perhaps we can discuss reinstating the frequent-kidnapper promotion? You owe me several large cups of tea.”

“Ha!” The Serpent prowled over to him, bending down until they were nose to nose. “You won’t trick me into that arrangement again, Mr. Fell.”

Aziraphale widened his eyes, raising his eyebrows. And for good measure, tilted his lower lip out just a bit.

“Okay! Fine!” The Serpent huffed. “We’ll send you a gift card!” He stumped away huffily.

“Thank you, dear!” Aziraphale called after him. “Same time next week?”

“Ngh!”

A clang from the speakers made Aziraphale turn with a frown.

“Oh my stars and garters!” Divine gasped. She was hurling herself at the walls of the observatory. “Fiddlesticks!”

“…fiddlesticks?” The Serpent echoed, returning to peer back at the screen. “What’s going on?”

“Uh, boss?” Eric cleared his throat.

Divine slammed into the wall again and ricocheted off. That wasn’t right, Aziraphale thought, panic rising. She had super strength.

“Boss? Ten seconds…”

The Serpent shook his head. “Is this a joke to you?”

Divine staggered to her feet, swaying. “You mad genius!”

Aziraphale and the Serpent simultaneously exclaimed “What!?!”

“Seven!”

“Your dark gift has finally paid off!” Divine stared up at the camera. “This dome is lined with copper!”

“Six!” Eric squeaked.

“Uh. Yes?” The Serpent sounded as baffled as Aziraphale felt.

“Four!”

“Copper,” Divine gasped, falling to her knees, “drains my power.”

“Two!!”

“Copper?” The Serpent said incredulously. “You’re kidd–”

He was cut off by a blaze of light hitting the observatory building, pure white and dazzling. Aziraphale pressed his eyes shut, but even through it, he could see the outline of the Serpent silhouetted through his eyelid.

He cracked an eye open as the light faded, just in time to see whole observatory explode.

The fireball burst out, the heat and power of the blast so strong that it blew the Serpent clean off his feet as if he’d been hit by a jet of water. Eric squeaked in panic somewhere off to the side and Aziraphale’s chair skidded back.

The power died, plunging them into the dark, but for the slice of light from the open wall.

“Ow,” Eric groaned weakly. “No chance she got out of that one.”

“Let’s hope,” The Serpent staggered to his feet, hair all over the place, sooty and smudged.

Eric stumbled over to the wall, then yelped. “Oh no!”

Aziraphale squinted against the slit of light. A shadow was approaching, flying and fast. “Divine!” he exclaimed, more relieved than he could say.

“Divine!” To his surprise, the Serpent sounded relieved too. “Oh! Fuck! Divine!” He bolted forward to grab Eric.

The hurtling shape smashed into him, bearing him to the floor, skidding across the polished surface to Aziraphale’s feet. Divine’s golden cape, yes, but something was wrong and–

The cape slid aside and–

“AIE!” The Serpent shrieked, staring the cape-clad skeleton in the face. He shoved it off him, scrambling back and slamming into Aziraphale’s legs.

Aziraphale stared in horror. “Divine…” he breathed. “Oh God. You did it.”

The Serpent’s ribs rose and fell in frantic shaking breaths. “I-I did it?”

Eric crept closer, prodding the skeleton cautiously with a broom. “You did it, boss.”

“I did it…” The Serpent’s voice trembled. “I did it.” He clutched Aziraphale’s knee to lever himself to his feet. “I _did_ it!”

Aziraphale felt sick to his stomach as the foul fiend stared up into the camera and broke into a mad, evil grin.

“Tadfield is _mine_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely Roo has gifted me the fabulous 3-panel scene of the lads in this chapter :) Please admire it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small delay on this one! Sorry about that! Behold! Chapter 2 :D

With the swarm of not-Erics at his back and actual Eric by his side, Crowley strode down the main street with a purpose.

Of course, he’d had to wait until after sundown to make his big entrance. It wasn’t very villainy to show up tinted gold in the sunset. Bit too Romantic Melodrama. So he’d sent Eric to drop Fell… somewhere. Probably a patisserie or something.

And then, he’d broken out the big guns: the full black outfit with the rippling scarlet serpent coiled around the body, head over one shoulder, tail tapering down around one ankle. Hair was dramatic, shoulders were spiky, boots had impressive heels. He even had a _cape_ and it looked _cool._

“Ready, boss?”

Crowley could see the whirling flicker of blue lights in the distance. Ah, their welcome committee, no doubt armed and panicky and without their hero to defend them. He couldn’t help doing a little hop on the spot. “Hell yes!” He snapped his fingers. “Let’s go.”

Eric hoisted a boombox over his head – vintage, of course. One had to go for iconic styles – and the bombastic strings of the opening of Beethoven’s Fifth blasted out, the Bluetooth connection carrying to helispeakers that were buzzing overhead.

You had one chance to make a dramatic entrance when you took over a city and he wasn’t about to cock it up.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea, fear and dread on their faces and he and his little army strode towards the glowing beacon of the city chambers. It was a properly fancy building with pillars and swirly bits and all the fancy things you never got on a prison. It probably had those big dangly crystal light thingies as well.

Crowley’s grin widened and he threw open his arms, twirling and bowing as he sauntered all the way to the floodlit steps, spinning to a halt, his cloak flaring around him – the weights in the bottom were _genius_. He snapped his fingers at Eric to cut the music.

_I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings  
Be your Valentino just for you_

Crowley whipped around to glare at Eric, who frantically slapped at the cassette deck. The music broke between dramatic strings and

_Ooh love, ooh loverboy  
What're you doin' tonight, hey, boy?  
Set my alarm, turn on my charm  
That's because I'm a good old-fashioned lo–_

The music cut out and Eric gave a cautious thumbs up.

Entrance thoroughly ruined, Crowley spun back to their audience and the podium someone had politely set up for him, scanning over the sea of suitably fearful faces. “Hello Tadfield!” he yelled, throwing his arms in the air. “Look at this turnout! Big night for all of us!”

No cheers, which was not unexpected, but still stung a little. What kind of cowed populace didn’t cheer and quail in equal measure?

“I mean all I did was defeat the most powerful being in the universe,” he prodded again, trying for something. Anything. He frowned, tapping the microphone. “Is this even on?” Still nothing. He peered out at the faces. “Well. Um. Any questions?”

“I have a–” The tall, Armani-looking man at the front was pushed aside.

“Yes.” Fell snapped at Crowley, his face flushed and his suit even more rumpled than it had been back in the lair. “Aside from sullying Beethoven’s good name–”

“Oi!” Crowley puffed up indignantly. “Beethoven is _cool_.”

“And you are considerably tepid,” Aziraphale retorted sharply, his expression tense. “I think we _all_ want to know what you have planned for us, you foul fiend.”

Crowley blinked at him. Oh. Right. Yes. Er.

In all honesty, his to-do list hadn’t been extensive. Number one – defeat Divine. Number two – claim Tadfield as his new evil dominion.

“Well…” He tried to grin dangerously. “Think of the worst thing you can think of and…” He glanced at Eric, who shrugged uselessly. “Make it even _worse_.”

Before anyone else could ask any other difficult questions, he swept around with a swirl of his cape and strode into the building, Eric clattering up the steps behind him.

“Shut the door!” he hissed as soon as Eric was in, crouching down and peeking over the edge of the window frame.

The crowd were still milling about, but that was good. No uprisings or revolts or anything else. A good start to his reign of terror, all things considered.

“Let’s find the throne room,” he declared, scrambling up.

“Um. I don’t think a Mayor has a throne,” Eric said.

“A big seat?” Crowley suggested. “A gold chain? Fancy dressing gowns?”

“Oh _those_ , they have!” Eric set down the stereo as they trotted through halls, picking up speed as they went. There were so many rooms, all brightly lit and warm and colourful and full of desks and furniture and all kinds of filing cabinets of mysteries.

One set of doors opened onto a huge room rows and rows of padded and tiered wooden seating. And in front of all of it, a raised platform.

“Look at _this_!” Crowley breathed in delight. “We have a _stage_.”

“If we find the Mayor’s big chair, we could make this your audience chamber, boss.”

Crowley grinned at his minion. “I like the sound of that!”

Okay, the big entrance hadn’t gone as planned, and Fell had tripped him up with his lack of plans, but this was great. He had the city. He had the fanciest of buildings with huge amounts of space and no bars! He was in charge! Everything was going to be _excellent_.

_________________________________

Tadfield was in chaos.

And yet, to Aziraphale’s surprise, it wasn’t the kind of chaos he had anticipated with the fall of Divine.

Yes, an occasional building went up in flames when the Serpent and his minions got carried away playing bowls with a dozen double-decker buses and a car as the ball. And the town hall did have a massive gaudy snake painted in childish strokes all around the edge of the roof.

But for the most part, the slide into neglect and disorder were more prominent.

No one had the nerve to bring up budgets or infrastructure with their self-proclaimed Villain Overlord or the fact that actually, we need bin lorries to collect the rubbish from the streets, so if you could stop commandeering them to have wacky races with your sidekicks, that would be splendid. The concept of salaried employees had apparently completely passed the fiend by, dozens of people out of work and depending on the good will of their fellow Tadfielders.

Aziraphale had tried to attend one of the council meetings, but left in dismay when the Serpent had spent half of the session enticing council leaders to be encased in a bubble then sending them bouncing across the audience like a flailing hamster in a ball.

He stared blindly out the window of his flat above the bookshop as he stirred his tea.

Outside, drifts of rubbish blew gently down the street.

Raised voices from downstairs drew him out of his reverie.

Newt, of course, but…

Oh Lord.

Aziraphale picked up his cup and made his way down the stairs to his shop. “Gabriel,” he said with a forced smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Gabriel – pristine as ever – flashed a brilliantly white smile at him. “There he is! I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for _days_ , buddy!”

Over Gabriel’s shoulder, Newt frantically mouthed “sorry!” and grabbed a book, miming hitting the man with it.

Aziraphale shook his head minutely. “What do you _want_ , Gabriel?” he demanded wearily. “Unless you’ve come for a book, I’m not sure what use I can be.”

“What use…” Gabriel strode across the floor and grabbed him by both arms, making tea slop over the rim of his cup and into his saucer. “You were the one who was there when she _died_. You can tell us what happened. You can make a fortune! People want to know the truth, Ezra!”

“The truth.” A thin tight smiled ached its way across Aziraphale’s cheeks. “She died. He won.” He stepped back from Gabriel’s grasping hands. “Now, if you don’t mind, we have a shop to run and I’d rather not keep my customers waiting.”

“But you’ve got to–”

Aziraphale gestured politely towards the door. “ _Goodbye_ , Gabriel.”

Gabriel stared at him, then scowled, storming out into the street.

“Sorry about that,” Newt said, wincing. “I was opening up and didn’t see him coming.”

A waft of perfume from the far side of the shop suggested why.

Aziraphale peered around the bookshelves and into the reading nook. “Ah. Good morning, Miss Device.”

Anathema, Newt’s eccentric girlfriend, flashed a winning smile at him. “Morning, Aziraphale.” She held up an elderly book, the table in front of her scattered with scribbled notes. “We’re working on decoding the prophecies again.” She picked one up and held it out to him. “I think this might be about the current situation.”

Doubtfully, he leaned down and took the proffered piece of card. The girl was lovely, but absolutely adamant that her deranged ancestor was a real witch who made accurate prophecies. “For a time it shall stand, writing upon the wall.” He frowned. “Dear girl, this could be anything.”

“He wrote on the wall,” Anathema argued. “I think it counts.”

“Graffiti is hardly a rare or modern concept.” He set the card down and picked up another. “I imagine any of these could sound pertinent. ‘Two shall ride the sky and a third will ride on flames’” He grimaced. “You see. That could relate to… the incident.”

Anathema’s face fell. “Well, at least I’m looking,” she mumbled defensively.

Aziraphale rubbed his brow. “Yes. I know, dear. I’m just…” He shook his head. “It’s very hard to hold on to optimism.” He glanced at Newt. “Would you be able to set up the camera in the back please, Newt? I… as much as it pains me to say it, Gabriel is right. I need to say something. He’ll just be back otherwise.”

Newt nodded at once, setting aside his broom. “Of course. Live?”

“I think it would be best,” Aziraphale murmured. “It’s not something I want to go over more than once.”

“Yeah.” Newt’s face twisted in sympathy. “I’ll get it sorted.” He hurried off through to the backroom.

“You must miss her,” Anathema offered quietly.

Aziraphale looked down into his teacup. “I imagine we all do.” He drew on a taut smile. “I wish you luck in your search, dear. I hope you find something.”

She nodded, returning his smile with a frail one of her own. “Me too.”

_____________________________________

The south-facing side of the Mayor’s offices had been given over to Crowley’s plant collection and he paced back and forth in front of it in agitation, the tail of his snake onesie trailing on the floor behind him. The other walls of the rooms were decked in Da Vinci paintings and strung with diamonds and the fanciest technology he could find.

It was meant to be exciting, being the winner. It was meant to be _fun_.

Instead, he’d run out of heavy vehicles to turn into bowling balls, the people didn’t look him in the eye and he didn’t even have a reason to go down to the lab. Why did he need to improve the time-out defence device when he had no one to defend himself from?

He paused in front of one of the plants, staring down at it.

“Is that a _spot_?” he growled at it.

It didn’t reply. Course it didn’t reply. It was a plant, not a sodding hero.

With a snarl of frustration, he ripped the pot from its place. “You see? You see!” He held it aloft to its leafy brethren. “If you’re not up to my standards, you’ll get what’s coming to you! I defeated Divine! I’ll destroy any one of you who gives me this kind of insolence!”

He stormed through to the next room and slammed the door behind him.

The pot hung accusingly from his fingers, leaves shivering gently in his grip.

Crowley stared at it, then gently set it on the cabinet beside the door out of the line of sight of the plants inside the plant room. He hoisted himself up to sit beside it, legs swinging slowly back and forth, and took out his phone to watch the video again.

It shouldn’t have bothered him.

It _didn’t_ bother him.

Why did he care if Fell was sitting in a room full of books and speaking quietly and sadly about Divine? Why did he care that the man looked drawn and deflated and pale? Why did he care that Fell sounded almost as lost and bereft as he felt himself?

He tossed the phone to the other end of the cabinet and leaned back against the wall, staring up at the sparkly drippy glass light thingie.

How long he’d been sitting there, he had no idea, when the door of the room swung inward and Eric danced in behind a packed shopping trolley, spinning it to a halt.

“Nabbed some more stuff from the museum, boss!” he enthused, hoisting a model boat out of the trolley. “Thought we could put a motor and some cannons on it and have a sea battle down in the lake. Maybe get some of the shrubs to play the kraken or–”

“What?” Crowley gaped at him.

“The boat?” Eric wiggled it hopefully. “I mean, we’ve done the land battles and games and things and the lake is pretty big and–”

“What’s the _point_?”

Eric recoiled in surprise. “You always love blowing stuff up.”

“Yeah, course I do!” Crowley shoved himself off the cabinet, boots clattering on the marble floor. “But what’s the point when there’s no one trying to stop me? When I can do whatever I want? When it’s just all… there.”

“Er… I don’t follow.”

“Course you don’t,” Crowley sighed, clumping across the floor and spilling himself into his not-quite-so-big chair. This one was spinny at least. A little touch of the bad old days.

“But you’ve got everything you ever wanted!” Eric trailed after him, still carrying the boat. “You’re the winner! You’re the uber boss now!” He chewed his lip. “Ooh! What if I go and kidnap Mr. Fell? You always enjoy that!”

The thought of the man in his bookshop, recording melancholy messages was like a twist of a knife. “No.”

“But he– you– it’s always interesting when he’s our prisoner!”

“And what? Now we just let him go when I’m done?” Crowley propped his elbow on the chair, cupping his chin in his hand morosely. “No. It’s no fun at all anymore.”

“Uh.”

Crowley rubbed at his eyes. “No boats. No cannon. Not tonight.”

Eric clattered back to his trolley, the wheels squeaking as he turned it around and trundled out of the office, leaving Crowley alone.

With a push of his foot, Crowley spun the chair to stare out the window. Of all the things, the Mayor’s office had a view directly onto the plaza and – at the far end – the Divine Museum which was now the Divine Memorial. He hadn’t had the heart to stop people laying flowers, but now…

He pushed himself to his feet.

It was time to do _something_.

_____________________________________

As often as he had visited it in the days since Divine’s passing, Aziraphale could never profess to actually _like_ the museum. It felt like something designed by a mind like Gabriel’s: all polished glass and chrome and a gift shop, nothing like the hero herself.

He walked through the deserted lobby and took the escalator to the upper levels.

There was a slow-moving walkway that circled around the shoulders of statue they had erected of her, as ridiculous and garish as the museum itself from the neck down. She was in an attitude of leaping into flight, one knee raised and one hand stretching to the sky. But the face…

Oh, they had caught her expression perfectly.

It was also the quietest part of the museum. Looking at stories from her glory days was more the kind of thing everyone else enjoyed. No one ever came up to the walkway. He stepped out onto it, letting it carry him around, one hand on the rail.

“I’m not sure what we’re meant to do,” he murmured as he passed the ear easily the size of his torso. “I want – I need to do something. I can’t just sit by and let evil thrive. Just like you.” His lips trembled as he came around her profile. “I wish I knew how to thwart him, my dear, but I’m not very heroic material.”

Grave silver eyes gazed at him.

Aziraphale lowered his head as the walkway continued its circuit. “He’s treating it all like a joke,” he continued quietly. “The Serpent. He’s… the city is falling apart. Quite literally.” He exhaled unsteadily. “We need a hero.”

______________________________

“We need a hero,” Crowley declared, as if she could hear him, stumbling under the weight of the backpack on his back.

The statue was huge and ostentatious and he loathed it, but at least there was no one around to see him ranting at it. He glared at her perfectly replicated hair, as the walkway carried him around towards Divine’s vast and splendid face.

The museum was awful. Not just a memorial to all the times she succeeded, but it was all about the basking. She never basked. She was classy about her heroing. She didn’t collect all those stupid articles. That was something that people did. Okay, yeah, and he didn’t enjoy seeing his face plastered across articles and marked as a loser. It got a bit depressing after a while.

That was the thing people didn’t get about her. She just wanted to make the world a better place. She didn’t need to _gloat_ about it.

“The thing is,” he said, pacing back and forth on the circling walkway. “The thing is that there’s got to be balance. It’s like a seesaw. Can’t just see without saw. Doesn’t work. It’s not how things go. You can’t have one without the other and now you’re not there to saw when I see, so I’m just… sitting and nothing is happening and I’m…”

He pushed his fingers through his hair.

“Ugh,” he informed her. “This. It’s… you’re not meant to be gone. That’s not how things work.” He kicked at the walkway. “And all you’ve left behind is this place! Look at it! It’s… you know, you’re lucky you didn’t get to open it. You would’ve hated it. All building, no soul.”

The walkway curved around in front of her face.

They’d made her too serious as well. Not the laughing, bantering force he remembered.

“I had so many evil plans in the work,” he told her gloomily. “Rains of fish. Training rat armies.” He laughed morosely and reached out to pat her on the nose. “You should’ve seen what I had planned for the M25.” The sigh lifted and dropped his shoulders. “Battles we’ll never have.”

Light reflected off her polished silver eyes.

“D’you know,” he murmured, hoisting the pack off his shoulder. “We never even got to say goodbye. S’why I’m here, really. A last look at this daft rendition of your face before I blow this whole place to kingdom come.”

He hoisted the pack onto the rail and tipped the contents out, raining sticks of dynamite down to join the pile that the shrubberies were building at the statue’s feet below. They rattled and banged off the statue’s upraised knee as they fell.

“Is someone there?”

“Shit!” Crowley squeaked, spinning for the exit.

And the light from the door stretched a shadow.

Someone was there.

“Hello?”

Oh. Bollocks.

Fell. It was _Fell_.

Right…

Being caught moping in the museum was a bad look, especially since he hadn’t even changed out of his bright green snake onesie. He fiddled with the dials on his watch. Couldn’t use the warden, obviously. Or the default Eric avatar, that was a bit obvious.

There were a few human samples Eric had based designed on his appearance, minus all his alien and snakey features.

Well, that’d have to do, wouldn’t it?

He slapped a button, praying it wasn’t anything too weird-looking.

______________________________

Aziraphale didn’t like to think he was a jumpy sort. He ought to have been, given how many times he had been abducted in the past couple of years, but he’d never really been afraid then. Between that and the curiosity he always tried to quash, he bustled around the walkway to look for the source of the clattering noise he had just heard.

“Oh!”

A man dressed all in black stood a little way ahead of him, patting himself down as if he had lost something. He must have come up shortly after Aziraphale himself, caught in an accidental game of hide and seek, obscured by the statue.

“Hello? Are you all right? I heard a clatter.”

The man spun around and almost pitched over.

“Careful!” Aziraphale rushed towards him, reaching out to steady him. “This walkway can be quite tricky underfoot.”

“Tricky. Yeah.” The man steadied himself on the rail.

Aziraphale stared at him. There was something oddly familiar about the man, though he couldn’t place him. Tall and thin, he was pale with a shock of brown hair and – for some inexplicable reason – was wearing sunglasses despite the overcast sky.

“Have we met?” Aziraphale asked cautiously. “I’m dreadful with faces, I’m afraid, but you seem very familiar.”

The man looked momentarily panicked. “Um. No. No, we haven’t. Definitely not. I’d remember you.” He straightened up and flapped a hand. “Just came to see the statue, that’s all.” He glanced at his watch. “And I should go. You should too. Now. I mean. Um. Because. Because they’re doing some remodelling. Um. They said that. Downstairs. In the building. With the people.”

“Oh?” It was the first Aziraphale had heard of it.

The man nodded vehemently, catching Aziraphale’s elbow with a strangely gentle grip to hurry him along the walkway. “They decided this is a bit tacky for her tastes. Going to make it a bit more… her.”

Oh what a lovely thought. “That would be marvellous.” He leaned in to confide, “I always found this place a little garish.”

Once again, the man’s eyebrows rose expressively. “Yeah? I thought you’d’ve loved this place.”

“Yes. Well.” As they reached the step-off point, Aziraphale led the way to the escalators. “It’s nice to actually see somebody else here,” he said over his shoulder. “Everyone seems happy enough to lay flowers, but no one seems to want to remember who she really was.”

His companion stared at him, mouth open, then snapped his mouth shut. “Hm. Yeah.”

“Did you know her, Mr…?”

Taut as a wire and dark as a shadow, the man fidgeted. “Crowley,” he blurted out. “Um. Anthony? Yeah. Anthony Crowley.” He knocked his hip against the rail of the escalator. “Can’t really say I _knew_ -knew her. Saw her sometimes. Saw her fight. Didn’t think– I mean the death and everything…”

Aziraphale offered him a sad smile. “I really thought she would do one of her last minute escapes,” he said quietly, something he had not been able to give voice to. The fact she had been trapped because of him. The fact she had died because of him.

“Yeah,” Anthony said, his voice trembling. “She was always so good at those.”

“If only the world had some kind of rewind button,” Aziraphale murmured.

To his surprise, Anthony made a strangled sound of distress. “I’ve looked into it,” he blurted out, voice cracking completely as he slumped against the rail of the escalator. “The science is impossible.”

Aziraphale reached out to steady the poor man. “There there,” he said as comfortingly as he could. “It’ll be all right in the end.”

Though he couldn’t see Anthony’s eyes through his dark glasses, he had a feeling the man was staring at him.

“You can’t know that,” Anthony said unhappily. “Not as long as… well… as things stay the way they are.”

“Now, that’s just negative thinking,” Aziraphale said briskly, patting him on the shoulder and digging around for the pep talks he had been giving himself for days. “I believe that as long as there is evil, good _will_ rise up to face it.”

Relief and hope broke across Anthony’s face like a sunrise. “You really think so?”

Aziraphale nodded at once. “I do. After all, it’s like they say: heroes aren’t born – they’re made.”

“Made?” Anthony echoed, his brow furrowing. “That… that’s it!” His face lit up in a dazzling smile that really was quite lovely. “All you need are the right ingredients!”

“I suppose so!” Aziraphale laughed, buoyed up by the man’s enthusiasm as they stepped off the escalator. “Some bravery, of course.”

Anthony dashed over to one of the displays which contained a picture of flying from a burning building, small children in her arms. “And the mad need to be good and help people.”

Aziraphale gazed around the exhibits. Tacky as they were, they proved one thing. “Resolve! She always had it by the bucket!”

Anthony bounced on his toes. “And a little bit of DNA.” He flashed his crook-toothed grin again. “Anyone could be a hero!”

That brought Aziraphale up short. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, I suppose so. A little difference is better than none at all.”

Anthony’s watch beeped and he frowned at it, then gave a squeak of alarm. “Right. Yeah.” He launched himself over, catching Aziraphale by the arm. “So that’s something to think about! But we should think about it somewhere else. Not here. Renovations and everything…”

Lost in thought, Aziraphale let the man steer him out the door. Conveniently, there was a taxi at the rank below, so he meandered his way down.

“It was lovely to meet you,” he called back.

“Yeah!” Anthony raised a hand in an awkward wave. “You too, Mr. Fell.”

Aziraphale paused, one foot halfway into the cab. “Please, call me Aziraphale.”

Anthony’s eyebrows shot skywards. “Er,” he said. “Right. A-Aziraphale.”

It was impossible not to smile when the man blushed like a schoolboy. Aziraphale gave him a jaunty wave then settled into the taxi. Oh yes, he had a lot to think about. Most of it, about how to do some good.

____________________________

As soon as the rear lights of the taxi vanished around the corner, Crowley tapped his watch, dissolving the projected image.

Well.

That was a thing.

He laughed, a little uncertainly. That was the first time Fell hadn’t spoken to him disdainfully or looked at him like something one might scrape off their shoe. They’d just… talked. Like people. Was this how it was for everyone all the time?

And his idea!

Making a hero! What a fantastic plan! Clearly no one was going to step up to the mark, so he would just have to–

His watch started beeping and split second before the whole bloody museum exploded.

“Shit!” Crowley screeched, staggering from the force of the blast. Bits of building rained down around him. “Shit shit shit shit!” He folded his arms over his head, running for it.

The booms and crashes behind him were deafening, but as soon as he was out of range, he turned, panting and looking back at the burning rubble. Time to let the past go and make a better, stronger, faster future.


	3. Chapter 3

“I don’t get it.”

Crowley spun to face his apprehensive minion, his boots clattering on the grates. “Of course you don’t,” he said. “This? It’s _genius_.”

“Uh… huh…” Eric trotted after him, scepticism all over his face. “No offence, boss, it doesn’t sound like it. I mean why the hell would you _want_ a new hero?”

Crowley tapped in the security codes, opening up the doors of the lab that had been firmly sealed since… well… since it happened. A slat of light sliced across the floor, shining on the shimmering gold and white cape. The bones were… he had made sure they were taken care of, in a garden, with flowers and things. More her style than the museum.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked. “Think about it! I’m a villain with no hero!”

“Uh. Yes?” Eric sounded baffled. “Wasn’t that kind of the whole point of defeating her?”

“Pfft!” He swooped down and snatched up the cape. “This is why you’ll always just be a minion.” He raised the cape. “A hero and a villain always have to exist. You can’t have one without the other. Like yin and yang! Or fish and chips!”

Eric’s brow creased. “I prefer sausage and chips.”

“Eric!” Hell’s sake, he could be so useless sometimes. “It’s an example! Crowley rubbed at his brow. “Okay. How about this? S’like a coin, good and bad. Can’t have a coin with just one side, can you? Bit pointless. Have to have the good and the bad.”

“But you won!” Eric wailed. “You won and you’re in charge! You don’t need anything!”

Which is why he’d never understand. Eric wasn’t a big picture thinker. Not exactly big on the dichotomy of good and evil, the balance of the world. For him, he just liked a chance to play with gadgets and design fantastic costumes – which he was admittedly very good at.

“Trust me,” Crowley said. “I know what I’m doing.”

He bundled up the folds of the cape in his arms and hurried through to the other half of the lab. Lights illuminated as he went, blazing up the white walls, and he headed straight to his workbench, spreading the cape out on the surface, stooping close to examine every part of it.

“I dunno.” Eric hovered anxiously behind him. “It seems like a really bad idea.”

“Yes! Exactly!” Crowley whipped out a pair of magnifying lenses and propped them on his nose, squinting even more closely at the fabric. “It’s a wonderfully Bad idea.”

“Um. No, boss.” Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle went his shoes, and his shadow fell across the cape, blocking Crowley’s light. “I mean the kind of bad idea that isn’t ‘Bad’, but is actually just not-good.”

Crowley peered up at him through the magnifying lenses. “Ye-es. That’s what we do. Not-good things.”

“Oh for–” Eric grabbed the cape, yanking it. Crowley screeched in protest, yanking it back, bracing his feet against the edge of the worktop and wrenching it out of Eric’s grip. “I’m not saying this is bad in a good-versus evil way, I’m saying this is bad in a might-get-you-punched way!”

“Yes!” Crowley burst out. “That’s the _plan_! A hero who will try and punch me!”

Across the worktop, Eric stared at him. “You’re going to do this, no matter what I say, aren’t you?”

Crowley lifted his chin haughtily. “Of course I am. Who’s the boss, after all?”

Eric sighed. “Okay. Fine. Whatever. But when it all goes tits up…”

“It won’t!” With a flick of his wrists, Crowley spread the cape out again. “Now… I’m just looking for…” He scanned the surface of the cape, then popped up triumphantly. “Aha! Hair!”

“Hair?”

Crowley beamed at him. “I’m going to manufacture a hero with her DNA! I’ll find someone good and decent and noble and heroic and then shove Divine’s powers into them! And voila! A new hero for Tadfield!”

“I just–”

With an impatient sigh, Crowley glowered at him. “Can’t you just be supportive for once?”

“For _once_?” Eric squeaked, offended. “When have I _not_ supported you?”

Valid point, well made.

“For the last ten minutes!”

“That doesn’t count!” Eric threw up his hands. “Fine! Let’s make a hero. I’m sure it won’t go at _all_ wrong.”

Crowley made a face at him as he carried the long golden hair reverently over to the microscope. “You could stand to lose the attitude.”

“Of course, oh mighty evil one.”

“Eric!”

____________________________________

“What’s this all about anyway?”

Aziraphale paused, counting to three before turning around. “I beg your pardon?”

Gabriel – yet again – was standing there, arms folded over his chest. “This,” he said, gesturing with one hand to the throng of young people who were working in groups to gather up the scattered rubbish from the streets. “Why are all these kids out here doing a work our council money is paying for?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Aziraphale replied tartly, “our council funds have been somewhat… sequestered by our evil overlord.”

“Yeah. And?”

Aziraphale jabbed at a can, snatching it up with his plastic gripping device and depositing it into the bin bag in his hand. “Well, if the council and their employees are unable to do something about the state of the city, I don’t see why we shouldn’t get on with it ourselves.”

From the look on Gabriel’s face, this was something outwith his comprehension.

If he was perfectly honest, Aziraphale had been quite surprised by the response to his rallying cry in the past few days.

The Serpent was clearly preoccupied and not out causing chaos, which meant it was a perfect time to try and do a little good for the city. Newt had insisted on making a video about his plans, excitedly babbling something about spark mobs or flash riots or something, and the next thing Aziraphale knew, swarms of people had descended on the streets to help with clean-up.

It was a drop in the bucket, he had to admit, but it was _something_.

There had even been a few council people in attendance, some of them confiding that they’d tried to explain taxation and financial management to the Serpent, but the idiot villain had acted as if he had no idea how money worked, let alone how to balance a budget.

“Is this because of her?” Gabriel asked with the careful tones of someone trying to find an angle.

“Divine?” Aziraphale shrugged, picking a few more pieces of rubbish up. “She always said that doing good, no matter how little, was important. I think it’s a rule I could live by.”

“Uh huh.” For several minutes, Gabriel was silent and when he next spoke, there was something in his tone that made Aziraphale’s hackles rise. “I mean, it’s all well and good being out here doing this in her name, when she didn’t even get a funeral or buried with the respect she deserved.”

Aziraphale’s bag clattered on the road. “Is this necessary?” he demanded. “We try and do a little good, make things a little better, and you try and bring it down?”

Gabriel held up his hands placatingly. “I’m just saying! Look, tell you what, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Please do.”

“If–”

Aziraphale took a steadying breath. “If _what_?”

“Show me where it happened.”

That didn’t make any sense. “Why?”

“The world needs to understand the villain we’re dealing with now.” Gabriel leaned closer, conspiratorially. “How better than searching through his lair?”

As if the Serpent hadn’t taken over the council chambers, a couple of banks and – for some inexplicable reason – a large garden centre.

“He abandoned his lair,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head. “There isn’t anything there to find. Watch one of those spy films with the secret hiding places inside volcanoes and you’ll get the general idea.”

Abruptly, Gabriel was in his space, flinging an arm around his shoulder. “Buddy! C’mon!” He squeezed him almost to the point of pain. “I swear, show me where it happened, let me get some good shots of the outside and we’ll give you and your little happy-clappy squad some positive coverage on the news tonight. Get a few more asses out to help you.”

Aziraphale shrugged out of his grip. “You’ll put this on your news programme?”

Gabriel flung his hands wide, beaming. “We _are_ the show that shows the little people the stories they should care about, right?”

Reluctantly, Aziraphale nodded. What harm could it do, really? Knowing the Serpent, the place would be locked up tight, the security impenetrable, and If Gabriel and his people wanted to fanny about, taping footage of the exterior, then… well… let him waste his time.

“Get your crew here first,” he said. “I want to see them recording before I take you anywhere.”

_______________________________________

“That’s it?”

Crowley hastily threw his arm out to keep Eric from leaning to close to the metal bowl and accidentally shoving the result of Crowley’s work up his nose or something. “Careful! Don’t get too close.”

The tiny pellet of gold didn’t look like much. About the size of a marble, it glowed softly and Crowley had the daft feeling that if he put his hand anywhere near it, he would be able to feel the heat radiating off it. Days of work and it had culminated in a single perfect dose of Divine power.

All the charts and plans and designs had come together, almost too perfectly for words.

“So what now?” Eric inquired. “You try and convince some muppet to swallow it? It’s a bit big for an injection.”

“Oh, Eric,” Crowley sighed, swinging around dramatically – would’ve been more dramatic with a cape, but they didn’t go well with the lab coat – and striding to the Basic Weapons Cupboard, a narrow wooden thing wedged between the Super Weapons Cupboard and the Tea and Snacks Cupboard. They had all been clearly labelled after the Incident. “We need to do it from a distance, so they don’t know it was us.”

“Oh! Right! Yeah! Obviously.”

Crowley pulled open the doors of the BWC dramatically and reached in to the tangle of metal, wires, gears and a weaponised rubber duck. Deep in the bowels of the collection, he found the weapon he was looking for. “This is what we’ll use.”

It glistened, a long round silver barrel with scarlet and green switches beside the trigger. The muzzle was wide enough for a marble-sized projectile and with the scope on top, it would work perfectly to shoot a completely random stranger and turn them into a superhero.

“The defuser?” Eric squinted at the label. “Isn’t that what you used to stop the lair from smelling too bad?”

“No!” Crowley turned it over in his hands. “You can infuse stuff with it or defuse stuff with it!” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Stop the lair from smelling…”

Eric made a face at him. “So what’s that thing over on desk in the corner?” he demanded.

Crowley glanced to the far end of the room and at once his ears burned hot. Thank Someone the scales hid the worst of the blush. “That’s a different kind of diffuser, you idiot! Do I look like the sort of person who would use a big bloody lazer gun to make my lab smell nice?”

His assistant gave him a considering look. “Yes?” he ventured.

“Ngh!” Crowley huffed, tromping back towards the workbench and the glowing ball of potential. “Shaddup. Go… check the perimeter or something!”

With a lot of care, some heavy duty leather gloves and a pair of tongs, he methodically transferred the small glowing orb into the defuser, holding his breath as it slotted in place and the mechanism illuminated, stripes of light streaking down both sides of the barrel.

And he very nearly dropped the damn thing when Eric yelped in panic.

“What?” he demanded, whirling around.

“Intruders!” Eric yelled back from the next room. “With a camera crew!”

“Shit!” Crowley set down the defuser and clattered back through to the room, stripping off his lab coat and throwing it aside. “Who? What? Where? How?”

Eric tapped one of the screens. “They’re out at the back wall, near the secret entrance!”

Three cameras had caught their intruders, a group of them clustered by a media van by the side of the road and fussing over a guy in a suit, and one of them close enough to walk in the door. Crowley frowned, leaning closer to squint at the screen.

“Wait a minute. That’s… isn’t that Fell?” It definitely looked like the man and his mouth was moving. “Quick! Get the sound on! What’s he saying?”

Eric frantically toggled the buttons. “There!”

“– be that easy, can it?” Fell’s voice boomed through the speakers. He leaned closer to the wall, peering at something on it. “Ecretsay entranceyay erehay.”

Crowley slowly pivoted to stare at his minion. “You _what_?”

Eric’s light brown complexion turned rapidly burgundy. “I kept forgetting where it was!”

Crowley thwapped him across the back of the head. “You laid out a welcome mat for him!”

“Boss!”

“Don’t ‘boss’ me! You practically opened the door and invited him–”

“He’s _in_ , boss!” Eric exclaimed frantically, jabbing a finger at the screen. “He came _in_.” He retreated away. “We don’t have time to hide the sabres! Or the lazers! What do we do?”

Crowley tapped at the controls, flicking from camera to camera frantically. Aha! There he was! And not even skulking! How rude was that? Just breaking into a man’s Evil Lair™ and striding about like he owned the place!

“I’ll get rid of him,” he said, straightening up. “You send out the shrubs to patrol and hide the defuser, just in case.”

Eric gave him a doubtful look. “What are you going to do?”

Crowley thumbed his watch. “I’m going undercover.”

___________________________

One thing you could say for the Serpent’s lair: he didn’t skimp on lighting. The place gleamed, all sterile white walls and high ceilings, though there were a lot of suspicious looking boxes and devices stacked up along the edges of the room.

Aziraphale paused, considering his options at a junction of four corridors, which seemed rather excessive for a building that appeared to be a simple cube from the outside. But then, the Serpent _was_ a thorough villain with an appreciation for villainous aesthetics and nothing said villainous lair like a complex and unnecessary labyrinth.

Unfortunately, Aziraphale had never come in entirely conscious or without a cloth bag dropped over his head, which meant he had no idea which path led in the right direction. He wasn’t even sure what he expected to find. Surely there had to be something, some clue, some hint of the Serpent’s vulnerabilities, something they could use to bring him down.

He glanced back at the doorway he had come through – visible on this side but certainly not on the other – and considered whether he ought to call Gabriel and his crew in. After all, this was what they wanted.

“No.” He told himself, not without a touch of pettishness. “If I can find it, I’m sure anyone with half a brain can find it. They can make their own way in.”

Drawing himself up, he chose a hall at random and marched onwards.

Unfortunately, in a matter of moments, he had become hopelessly turned around by the identical halls. Taking note of specific boxes as markers hadn’t helped, when every pile of boxes at every corner seemed to be arranged in exactly the same way. They even had the same numbers on them, for Heaven’s sake.

“Oh, you wily fiend.” Aziraphale murmured when he found himself approaching yet another four-way junction.

He strode onwards, only to crash straight into someone dashing out the turn-off to his right, both of them staggering. Aziraphale reached out automatically to steady the other man, who was taller and skinnier than him, but blinked in astonishment.

“ _Anthony_?”

Anthony pulled himself up, red-faced and puffing as if he’d been running. Inexplicably, he was still wearing his sunglasses, though given how bright the Serpent’s lair was, it made a modicum of sense. “All right? Fell, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I mean, Aziraphale, but…” Aziraphale caught the poor breathless man’s arm. “My dear, what on earth are you doing here? You could be in terrible danger!”

Anthony gaped at him. “You’re here too,” he pointed out.

“Ah. Yes.” Aziraphale pinked, trying not to think of the fact he’s brought Gabriel. “Well… it’s…” He waved his other hand dismissively. “It was a foolish notion and now, I’m afraid I’m–” He paused, frown returning. “You were running. Is there some threat?”

“Um. Yeah. Course. I mean, it’s the Serpent’s Evil Lair, isn’t it? Chockful of evil and all that. All his gadgets and doodads and things.” He grabbed Aziraphale by the arms, turning back in the direction he’d just come from. “So we should probably bugger off. Not get in any more trouble.”

“His gadgets,” Aziraphale echoed. He shook Anthony’s hand off gently. “You go on, dear boy. I think I may be able to find something useful.”

To his surprise, Anthony trailed after him. “This is a bad idea,” he insisted. “And you’re definitely going the wrong way.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” Aziraphale replied evenly. “This place is a maze! I’m astonished you managed to find your way through it at all.”

“You know it’s a maze?”

Aziraphale snorted in amusement. “Have you met the Serpent? He’s a stickler for proper villain aesthetics. Of _course_ it’s a maze.” He flashed Anthony a smile. “You can say what you like about the fiend, but he _is_ consistent.”

“Erk,” Anthony agreed, swaying along beside him on those long, skinny legs of his.

There was something to be said about having a partner in crime, creeping through the building with him.

“This is exciting, isn’t it?” Aziraphale admitted, nudging the other man. “Did you come in to look for some clue too?”

“Clue?”

“To defeating the Serpent, of course?”

Anthony made a garbled string of sounds. “Ngh nyeah, s’pose,” he said. “Came in. Got turned around in the maze. Found you. And now…” He pointed down a corridor. “Found the door. Lucky I’m here, eh?”

“I suppose I am.” Aziraphale eyed the door with its glowing exit sign.

Anthony hurried towards it. “Escaping in one piece is exciting,” he said, beaming.

He made a fair point, but Aziraphale shook his head. “There must be something here. Some clue. We know so little about the Serpent. We need information.” He turned down another corridor and bustled onwards, the muted swearing of Anthony following him.

“This is a bad idea!” Anthony protested. “I mean, a really bad idea. You don’t know what traps and WHAT KIND OF SHRUBBERIES–”

“Stop shouting!” Aziraphale exclaimed, but it was too late and he could hear booted feet crashing down the corridors.

Ahead, long shadows were stretching and he lunged, grabbing Anthony, yanking him with a startled yip behind the towering blocks of crates. He shoved Anthony into the gap, squeezing in behind him and clamped a hand over the man’s mouth, putting a finger to his own lips as the sussuration of the minions flocked by.

“Ngh!” Anthony mumbled, his skinny hand pressing against Aziraphale’s chest.

“Just a moment,” Aziraphale breathed. “They may seem threatening en masse, but they have the brains of a brick between them. They won’t notice us if we just stay–” He turned his attention back to the man, Anthony’s face mere inches from his. Suddenly, he became aware of the heat of Anthony’s breath on his palm, the way Anthony’s fingers were curling into his waistcoat. “Oh.”

Thankfully, the minions must’ve been out of earshot as he stumbled back a step and out of the man’s personal space. Flushing to the tips of his ears, Aziraphale inched back to the edge of the crates and peeped out.

“It’s safe,” he whispered over his shoulder. “Come out.”

Anthony shuffled out behind him, as red in the face as Aziraphale was sure he was himself. “Uh. How… you seem to know a lot about this place.”

Aziraphale grimaced. “Yes. Well, when you’ve been abducted here often enough, you learn to spot the details.” He started down the next stretch of corridor, relieved to hear Anthony clatter after him. “The minions are harmless enough. Very simple creatures. Easily distracted.”

“Is that how you found this place again?” Anthony inquired. “Because you’ve come here before?”

Aziraphale smiled crookedly. “Hardly. I’m usually unconscious when I’m brought in.”

“Oh. Yeah. Obviously.” Anthony hurried to catch up with him. “So how did you find it, then?”

“How many other buildings have a replica of the observatory dome on the roof?” Aziraphale said with a chuckle.

“Aha!” Anthony exclaimed. “Yes! That!”

Aziraphale glanced at him. “What about you?”

“Er.” The man’s shoulders bunched up around his ears when he shrugged. “That. Same way. Domey thing on the roof. Obviously.” He glanced around. “Um. I don’t think this is the way we should go. I think we should… er…” He swung around and pointed back the way they came. “Doesn’t that seem like a better way?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Take the road less travelled,” he said brightly, beaming when they reached a T-junction. “Aha!” He grabbed Anthony by the arm. “I think I’ve got it worked out, you see. The maze! If we keep going down–”

“What? What do you mean you worked it out?” Anthony squeaked. “I– it’s– this place is impossible to navigate! I’ve been lost for _hours_.”

It hadn’t made sense, not until they’d wedged themselves between the crates and that was when he’d spotted a pattern marked down the side of it, cleverly hidden so you wouldn’t spot it unless you knew to look for it. It lined up with a matching mark on each of the crates, like Theseus’s thread, leading the way in and out of the labyrinth.

“You just need to follow the breadcrumbs,” Aziraphale said happily, hurrying on. “I suspect the Serpent had to resort to it when his minions kept getting lost.”

Behind him, Anthony sputtered, probably surprised at how easy it had been.

“Keep up!” Aziraphale called back. “I’d hate for you to get lost again.”

“We really should get _out_ ,” Anthony protested, loping after him.

“Why?”

Anthony gaped at him like a stunned fish. “Well… aren’t you worried the Serpent’s going to be a bit cheesed off when he finds out you broke into his Evil Lair?”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Another corridor led down towards a door and despite Anthony’s tugging on his arm, Aziraphale strode on, relentlessly. “He’s probably too busy finding new ways to cause chaos in the city. Anyway, he owes me a gift card.”

The man made a sputtering noise again. “A _gift card_? He’s the villain overlord of the city!”

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale paused in front of the door. It was polished and white and had a control panel beside it. “It doesn’t hurt to fulfil your arrangement with the man you abducted.” He slapped the control and hooted in delight when it slid open. “I knew it! The Lair!”

“Oh no!” Anthony moaned, but rushed in behind him anyway.

It looked almost the same as it had that fateful day, the screens aglow, the walls gleaming and white as ever. But Divine’s remains were gone. Aziraphale stared around the vast room and spotted the cape folded carefully on one of the chairs. How odd.

“Right. So we’ve been here. Now, maybe we should bugger off?” Anthony was suddenly at his elbow, tugging. “We don’t want to set anything off, do we?”

A clatter made Aziraphale whip around. “We’re here now,” he insisted firmly. “We might as well have a quick look for any clues for a way to defeat him.”

Another doorway opened into a room that had to be a laboratory, all glowy and bright with gadgets and tools and a vast sprawling spread of designs and schematics plastered across the wall.

“It looks like he’s working on something new, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale said, alarmed. There were snippets of things that looked like DNA, slides from microscopes, crudely scribbled notes all over the walls. Anthony dashed over to them, splaying his arms and leaning in to study them.

“Probably old work,” he said over his shoulder. “Nothing to–”

His face – and probably his eyes – were fixed on something to Aziraphale’s right.

Aziraphale turned nervously, half-expecting the Serpent, and instead finding something that inexplicably looked like the bastard love-child of a rifle and Newt’s little hand-held vacuum cleaner. It seemed to be humming softly and emitting a soft, golden glow. He picked it up, fascinated. “What do you suppose this is? This must be what he’s been working on!”

“NGH!” Anthony launched himself over. “Careful! It looks like it might blow!” He slid his hand under the barrel. “Let me–”

Aziraphale gently pushed him back. “Don’t be ridiculous! I can carry a little gun.”

Anthony gawped at him. “I thought your sort didn’t approve of guns.”

“Um.” Unfortunately, that _was_ true. “Yes. Well, in the right hands, they can support a moral argument.”

Anthony’s wary expression gave way to an amused and utterly charming grin. “A moral argument?”

“Oh, do be quiet!” Aziraphale peered around, frowning at an upended wardrobe. Something sounded like it was rattling inside and he inched closer, giving it a cautious kick.

“Boss?” A voice wailed from underneath. “Boss! I’m stuck!”

Boss?

“Eric?” Aziraphale inquired. “Is that you in there?”

“Mr. Fell?” Eric squeaked. “Oh. Shit!”

Aziraphale looked around, alarmed. If Eric was here and expecting to be rescued, that meant that somewhere in the building, the Serpent was loose. Anthony had clearly never dealt with the fiend himself, so to linger was unthinkable.

“We need to get you out of here,” he said, steadying the gun-device in one hand, and grasping Anthony’s wrist with the other.

“Ngh! Yeah! Been saying that! Maybe… leave the gun?”

Aziraphale hurried him towards the door. “Not a chance, dear boy. I can’t guarantee your safety, if we leave unarmed.”

Anthony made an inarticulate sound as Aziraphale bundled him out into the hall, chivvying him along. After all, Eric might be trapped, but the other minions and the Serpent himself were still kicking about. The last thing they needed was some poor over-helpful civilian getting caught in the Serpent’s trap.

“Are you sure you know which way we’re going?” Anthony demanded, pulling his arm free. “What if it was just a fluke you getting all the way in?” He turned and dashed off. “I need to get out of here!”

“Anthony!” Aziraphale rushed after him, cradling the glowy machine against his chest, turning down a corridor after him, only to find himself face to face with the Serpent. “You!”

“You thought you could break into my Evil Lair and I wouldn’t know?” The Serpent sneered, hands on his hips, his outfit surprisingly subdued compared to his usual costume. Aziraphale eyed him doubtfully. Plain black? And were those fluffy slippers? “Oi! Eyes up here!”

“Where’s Anthony?” he demanded hotly. “He came this way.”

“Er…” The Serpent’s golden eyes darted towards a doorway in the wall. “Yes. Anthony. I have him captive! I’m doing horrible, terrible things to him.” He held up a finger. “Wait here.” He dived through the doorway and there was an ear-splitting screech.

“Take that!” Anthony shouted. “Release me, you villain!”

“I have you now!” The Serpent snarled in reply.

“Anthony!” Aziraphale ran two steps forward, but a pair of pink hands grabbed around the edge of the doorframe, Anthony’s flushed face poking out. “Run, Aziraphale! Save yourself! He’s just too spectacular!”

“I’m coming!” Aziraphale swung up the gun.

Anthony squeaked and seemed to get yanked back in through the door, only for the Serpent to leap out. “Drop the weapon and I’ll give you your… companion back, Fell! Carefully!”

“Put down the only thing I have to defend myself?” Aziraphale lifted the gun in what he hoped was a threatening manner. “I hardly think so!”

The Serpent slammed back against the door. “Don’t you point that thing at me! You don’t even know what it does, you bloody idiot!”

“I know it makes you back away!” Aziraphale replied fiercely. “Now let Anthony go, or I’ll find out exactly what it does!”

The Serpent’s face twisted in a grimace of indecision, his scaly fingers twitching.

“Remember what I did with the fencing foil!” Aziraphale cautioned, thrusting the muzzle of the gun device towards him.

“Okay! Fine!” The Serpent groused, stamping back in through the doorway. “Your hero has saved you, _human_.”

Anthony burst out of the door. “You didn’t need to do that!” He started down the hall, then paused, frowning, as Aziraphale inched closer to the doorway. “Wait! What are you doing?”

Aziraphale nodded towards the door. “He’s still in there! And clearly is afraid of this! We could defeat him here and now!”

“Er,” said Anthony.

The door was still slightly ajar and Aziraphale inched closer. “Serpent! Come out! With your hands raised!”

“Don’t provoke him!” Anthony yelped. “Look, let’s run for it while we can!”

Aziraphale shoved the door a little wider. How strange. It barely looked like a room at all. More like a storage–

“There he is!” Anthony yelled, clattering off down the hall.

“What?” Aziraphale spun. “Where?”

“There!” Anthony wheeled off into a side corridor and Aziraphale hurried after him. “Don’t move, Serpent!”

“You’ll never catch me, puny human!” The Serpent shouted back.

“Anthony!” Aziraphale roared, barrelling after them. “Be careful! He’s dangerous!”

By the time he caught up, they had already veered off around another corner and he inched gingerly out, unsurprised when the Serpent jumped down on his back from the pile of crates. Scaly black hands swatted at his, trying to wrestle the gun from his grip.

Aziraphale whirled around, slamming back into one of the crates. The Serpent made a squeaky breathless sound as he was firmly squished between Aziraphale’s more solid bulk and the hefty wooden boxes.

“Give it back!” he wailed, pawing at Aziraphale’s hands. “It’s mine!”

“I don’t think so!” Aziraphale shook him off. As long as he had the Serpent distracted, it gave Anthony more time to escape.

“You don’t know what you’re doing!” The Serpent kicked at his legs and then – he embarrassed himself by screeching – bit him on the neck. But oddly, he noticed, it didn’t hurt half as much as he expected, not when the Serpent had very literal fangs.

“That was uncalled for!” he protested.

And the cheeky bastard did it again!

The shock made Aziraphale’s finger tighten on the trigger, the gun-thing going off in his hand and it erupted in a blazing blast of golden light.

“No!” The Serpent yelled in panic, throwing himself – and by proximity – Aziraphale to the ground.

The light ball ricocheted off walls and boxes and ceilings, pinballing rapidly down the halls and out of sight, smashing things as it went.

Aziraphale, half-covered by the Serpent, pushed himself up on his elbows. “What the hell did you do?”

“Me?” The Serpent screeched. “I told you to put it down, you idiot!”

“I’m the idiot? You made a lazer gun!”

“Ngh!” The Serpent scrambled up off him. “Well done for buggering everything!” He snapped his fingers, the lights switching off instantly, and vanished off into the darkness.

Unsteadily, Aziraphale got to his feet, peering around.

“Anthony?” he called. “Are you there? Are you all right?”

Somewhere in the distance, he heard a faint “Ngh!”

A few seconds later, Anthony stumbled into the hall, holding a torch and limping heavily.

“Oh no!” Aziraphale hurried over to him. “It didn’t hit you, did it?”

“No,” Anthony sounded winded. “It didn’t.” He’s face was creased up in distress and pain. “We shouldn’t stay here.”

“No,” Aziraphale agreed at once, slipping his shoulder under Anthony’s arm. The man froze up. “Oh dear. That doesn’t hurt, does it?”

Anthony stared at him, then shook his head. “Nah. S’fine.”

With Anthony leaning heavily on him, Aziraphale followed the patterns on the edge of the crates to guide them back in the direction of the door. Under his hand, Anthony’s ribs rose and fell with unsteady breaths, the torch wavering in the man’s hand.

“We should get you to a hospital.”

“Just get us out, that’ll be enough.” Anthony mumbled. “Enough damage has been done.”

“Quite so.” Aziraphale sighed with relief at the sight of the door. “At least the Serpent was annoyed by what we did. That can only mean it was something good, firing that device like that.”

“Ngh,” Anthony agreed, then winced as Aziraphale hauled him out into the light.

He took the chance to look the other man over. Physically, there didn’t appear to be any damage, apart from a few splinters in his clothing and a rather impressive bruise across his cheek. From the way he was limping, he must have been painfully pummelled too, any other evidence hidden under his black clothing.

“You should be all–”

“Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale groaned inwardly. Gabriel. Of course he was still there. He turned, forcing a smile onto his face. “Ah, Gabriel.” His smile slid away at the sight of the other man’s face. He looked like someone had punched him on the face, his whole nose swollen twice its normal size. “What happened?”

“What happened?” Gabriel snarled. “We just got set up and this god damn firework came flying out and cracked me right on the face! Do you have any idea how much work I’m gonna need done?” He grabbed the front of Aziraphale’s suit, yanking him closer. “You didn’t tell me there were these kind of defences in place!”

“I’m quite sure I did!” Aziraphale protested. “I told you and you–”

“Don’t you lay this on me, pal!”

“Oi!” Anthony shoved himself between them. “You leave him alone!” He was still swaying, but he shoved Gabriel back, putting an arm out to shield Aziraphale, his eyes fixed on the Vulpine reporter. “You should’ve known better, coming to an Evil Lair.”

Gabriel bared his teeth. “You’ll be hearing from my attorney, Fell,” he snapped, wheeling around and storming off, his coterie fluttering anxiously around him.

Aziraphale, heart racing, put out a hand to steady poor Anthony. “You didn’t need to do that, dear boy.”

Anthony gave him a weak smile. “Yeah. Well. He should’ve blamed the right person.” He glanced around. “Look, I need to head off. You… maybe lay low for a bit, yeah? Don’t want anyone coming for vengeance or anything.”

Aziraphale smiled crookedly. “I think you underestimate how much I fear the Serpent,” he said gently. He squeezed Anthony’s arm. “Are you sure I can’t take you to a hospital or something?”

“Ngh. Nah. S’fine.” Anthony stepped back, shifting from foot to foot self-consciously.

He really had been remarkably brave, given the circumstances, and it was rare to find someone who would shout at him so freely and enthusiastically.

“Look,” Aziraphale murmured, “I know we hardly know one another, but perhaps you can pop by my bookshop some time. It would be nice to meet in a situation that doesn’t involve explosions or villains or heroes, wouldn’t it?”

Anthony stopped moving, mouth dropping open. “Me?” He sounded baffled by the concept. “You want me to come to your book shop?”

“Only if you would like to,” Aziraphale said, holding up his hand. “You’re under no obligation to–”

“Yeah.” Anthony ducked his head with a shy smile. “I’d like that.”

____________________________

Fell was gone.

The lair was a mess.

Crowley meandered through the building to his lab, retrieving the empty defuser on the way. With a few tools and a lever, he managed to hoist the Tea and Snacks cupboard up far enough so that Eric could wriggle out. Fell – Aziraphale – had invited him to the book shop. Like they were normal people. Like they were friends.

“Boss?” Eric inquired, staring at him.

“Hm?”

“That _is_ you, isn’t it?”

Crowley blinked in confusion. “Oh! Right! Yeah!” He touched his watch, switching back to his normal appearance. He promptly smacked Eric across the back of the head. “I told you to put the sodding Defuser away!”

“I got stuck!” Eric protested, then paused, frowning. “Wasn’t it glowing?”

“Yeah.” Crowley glanced over at it. Okay, so technically, it hadn’t gone to plan, but sometimes fate played an ineffable game of its own devising. “Fell got hold of it, but it went off before I could get it back.”

“You mean Fell…”

“No!” Crowley recoiled at the thought of having to actually go toe-to-toe with a super-powered Fell with his need to do good. “It bounced out of the Lair. Didn’t go anywhere near him.” He hurried over the security screens and tapped on one of the exterior cameras, zooming in on the news van still standing outside. “We didn’t get to choose our candidate,” he said, “but I know who it is and he looks _perfect._ ”


	4. Chapter 4

“Him?”

Crowley pressed his nose to the glass of the window. “Yessss.”

“No, really? _Him_?”

He shot an irritable look at Eric, who was hovering beside him, seated on top of one of the bots. “Yes him!” he exclaimed. “Look at him! Jaw like the prow of a ship! Perfect hair! And he’s the right shape for heroing as well!”

His minion squinted through the window at the figure sleeping in the bed. “Yeah, but it’s _him_.”

Crowley rolled his eyes skywards, which wasn’t difficult, given that they were currently precariously balanced on a pair of bots outside the penthouse flat window, high above the rest of the city. “You keep saying that. What’s wrong with him?”

Eric’s face twisted in disbelief. “I mean, apart from the fact he works for Vulpine Studios?”

There was probably some hidden meaning there, but Crowley didn’t get it. “So?”

“So? They’re not exactly… the good guys, when it comes to reporting.”

“It’ll be fine!” Crowley jabbed the bot to zoom in a little closer to the glass. “He’s only a reporter. He’s just reading words off a script. He doesn’t mean it.”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh, shut up, and hand me the diamond lazer.”

The lazer sliced through the glass in a perfect circle, big enough for a Supervillain and his minion to clamber through. Outside, the bots bobbed and hummed, as Crowley peered around the flat. It looked like a fishtank – all glass walls with panoramic views of the city.

Behind him, something crashed to the floor and he spun around.

Eric winced up at him, foot tangled in an ornate… stand? Statue? Shelf? Some kind of ‘art’ anyway. “Sorry boss!”

“Who’s there?”

“You woke him up!” Crowley yelped, reaching down to haul Eric to his feet. “You idiot!”

“I thought you want to train him!”

Lights flicked on in the bedroom, a silhouette stretching across the floor.

“Not yet!” Crowley patted himself down. “Shit! Do you have that spray you use on Fell?”

Eric groped in his capacious pockets. “No, but I’ve got a night-night stick.”

“What’s a–”

“You!” The man he had come to find stood in the doorway, resplendent and furious. “What the hell are you–”

“Eric!” Crowley squawked.

His minion ran forward and bonked the man on the head with a cosh. Gabriel West went down like a lead balloon, sprawled out on the floor. Crowley approached cautiously, giving him a poke with his foot.

“A night-night stick?” he echoed.

Eric grinned sheepishly and waggled the cosh. “Sounds better than blunt instrument, don’t it?” He crouched down, rolling the man onto his back, and swung the defuser around off his back. “So, we’re defusing him, right? Whipping it out of him before it takes effect? Finding someone better?”

“Someone better?” Crowley gestured to the man. “Look at him! He’s exactly hero-shaped! That’s what they want! Someone with a big jaw and cheekbones and _hair_.”

“Uh huh.” Eric tucked away his cosh, but kept a grip on the defuser. “And a complete arsebiscuit.”

“You don’t know that,” Crowley sniffed, leaning down to snatch the defuser off him in case he decided to improvise. “You can’t believe everything you see on the telly.”

“Yeah, you’re right about that,” Eric agreed, grabbing the man by his arms and dragging him back in the direction of his bedroom. “I mean, this bloke said you were one of the most fiendish villains to ever set foot on English soil.”

“Ha!” Crowley trailed after him, jabbing a finger. “See! He knows what he’s talking about.”

Eric peered up at him as he tucked a shoulder under West’s shoulder to haul him up onto the bed. “Don’t think you’re taking my meaning there, boss.”

“Never mind.” Crowley waved him away and peered curiously around the rest of the room. There were a lot of mirrors and photographs. He stooped to peer at tools laid out neatly on a low desk with a wide mirror framed by lights. Tweezers and prongs and all kinds of sharp and ominous-looking metal things with wires and blades. He picked one up, puzzled. “What do you think he uses–”

“Boss!” Eric squeaked. “He’s sizzling!”

“Oh!” Crowley whipped around. “Right! That means it’s working. Quick! Into character!” He hooked the defuser onto his belt, then shifted the dials of his watch, projecting another one of the characters that Eric had designed for him. This one was a sage old man with a massive forehead and loads of impressive billowing hair. He even had a glitzy, star-spangled robe.

Eric yanked a bundle out of his backpack and pulled it on over his head.

“What is _that_?” Crowley snapped in outrage.

“What?” Eric glanced down at the ornate robes he was wearing. “You wanted us to look spacey and knowledgeable and stuff.”

“I wanted _me_ to look like that,” Crowley exclaimed indignantly. “I didn’t want us wearing the exact same outfit!”

“What d’you think I based your costume on?” Eric demanded hotly. “D’you think I just spin them out of thin air or something? No! I have to make every one of them to be a template for your projection thingie! And I didn’t have time to make something different for me!”

Crowley blinked at him in surprise. Eric getting testy was a bit like getting savaged by a lamb. “Er. Fine. Then. Right. Good work on it. Very… spacey.” He tugged at the projected clothing. At least his fitted a bit better than Eric’s did. Too big on him. Unprofessional-looking. “Um. Just… stand there and look helpful, all right?”

Eric grunted huffily.

On the bed, West was glowing and pulsing with light. His body floated up off the bed, shimmering, flickers of lightning crackling across his skin.

“It’s working!” Crowley reached out to shake Eric’s arm. “Look! It’s _working_.”

The glow went supernova and Crowley’s excited gabbles turned into a screech as he flung his arm over his eyes. He felt Eric lunge behind him, shielding himself, which was a bit ungrateful now that he thought about it.

As the light faded, he heard movement from the bed.

“Ungh.”

Crowley lowered his arm cautiously. The man on the bed had regained consciousness, to the point of sitting up and staring at his still-shimmering hands. His pyjamas had burst across his shoulders where fresh muscle had expanded out, taking him from average human to heroic dorito shape.

“What that hell…” West breathed.

Crowley struck a dramatic pose. “Arise, my son! Arise!”

Bewildered purple eyes turned his way. “Who the hell are you?” He squinted. “And what the hell are you wearing?”

“I’ve travelled across galaxies to find you,” Crowley intoned gravely. “Many years ago we sent you from out–”

“Yeah, yeah, speed it up a bit, buddy,” West said, making a winding gesture with one hand. “Who are you and what the hell do you want? You’ve got five minutes to explain before I call in my security detail and have you hauled out of here.”

“Oh! Right!” Crowley shot a worried look back at Eric and mentally riffled through the rest of the script, doing some strategic editing. “Congratulations, my boy! You have been chosen as the successor of Divine. You have been gifted with all her powers.”

West arched an eyebrow. “Huh. And what are you here for?”

“Um.” This didn’t feel like it was going to plan. “Well. You’re a hero. You need hero training. That’s – I’m here to hero-train you. To defeat the Serpent.”

West’s face lit in a grin and he jumped out of bed. Jumped a bit too hard, shooting himself out through the ceiling. Crowley winced, raising a hand to shield himself from the shower of dust and debris.

West dropped back through the hole and grinned, looking up at the ceiling. “I guess that’ll count as a deductible, huh?” He clapped his hands together. “I’ve got a good feeling about this, space-guy. I’m gonna be the kind of hero Tadfield really needs.”

Crowley sighed inwardly with relief. “I know you will,” he said, patting one meaty shoulder. “Now, we should start–”

“Yeah, hold on.” West shoved by him, circling the bed and snatching up his phone. “Sandy! Yeah, I know it’s midnight. We’ve got breaking news. Get the team together. Uh huh. We’re gonna need a special feature for this.”

“Oi!” Crowley strode impatiently around the end of the bed and grabbed his phone. “You’ve got to _train_.”

West looked him up and down, then plucked the phone back out of his hand. “Sure. Let me check my schedule and see when I can fit you in.” He tapped the screen then flashed that very white and perfect smile. “I can do tomorrow afternoon. 3pm? How’s that sound for you?”

“We should start as soon as possible.”

“Uh huh.” West popped an earbud in his ear. “That’s great, but I have to get to work. If you wanted to start sooner, you shoulda booked an appointment.” He raised his eyebrows. “So tomorrow? 3pm?”

“Er. Yes. I… what?”

Before he could parse what the hell was going on, Crowley found himself – and Eric – hoisted under beefy arms and carried through the flat. Gabriel West deposited them outside his front door, then offered them a card.

“Call my agent for a location,” he said with a showbiz wink, then slammed the door in their faces.

“Boss…” Eric murmured.

Crowley stared at the card in his hand, then at the door. “S’fine,” he insisted uncertainly. “I mean, it worked. He didn’t say no. Training’ll just start tomorrow.” He gave Eric a grin that he hoped didn’t look quite as worried as it felt. Probably not on his old space-man face. “He’s a busy man. That’s all.”

Eric, mercifully, didn’t say anything, but especially not “I told you so.”

___________________________________

There had to be something.

Aziraphale shuffled through the notes he had made on his return from the lair. There were far too many, all frantically scribbled down as rapidly as he could before they slipped his mind. Some of them made no sense, others were only fragments, but the Serpent had been working on something and whatever it was, he’d been worried about Aziraphale interfering.

“Tea, Mr. Fell?”

He glanced up. “Hm?”

Newton waved a teapot around the doorframe of the back of the shop. “Tea?”

“Oh. Yes. Please.” Aziraphale took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. He’d been at the notes into the small hours of the night and had resumed the task as soon as he got up. There _had_ to be something, some obvious little thing that he was overlooking. The DNA, for example. What was that about? The Serpent’s previous biological experiments had never ended well, especially that one occasion with the extremely luxurious and ominous plants.

He dropped his glasses on one of the notepads and got up, wincing as his back crackled from shoulder to hip. Honestly, all that rushing about at the Serpent’s lair and then sitting up into the small hours was beginning to wear on him.

In the small kitchen at the back of the shop, Newt rattled about, humming to himself. From the sound and smell of it, he was putting together a cooked breakfast as well, the scent of bacon and eggs wafting through the open doorway.

“You don’t need to do that, you know,” Aziraphale said, poking his head through the doorway.

Newt grinned at him. “Yeah, I know. But you didn’t need to go off with Gabriel to get us an evening news slot.” He waved a spatula. “Call it your hero’s reward for dealing with that complete spoon.”

“Well,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I can’t really say no to that, can I? Even if the slot was barely a thirty second window.” He sat down at the small table in the corner. “Frankly, I’m astonished he kept his word about it, given what happened.”

Newt sniggered. “His own fault, walking into the defences like that.”

Defences, Aziraphale thought curiously, that hadn’t reacted at all to his own presence.

A jangle from the shop made him turn, surprised. “I didn’t realise you’d opened up already.”

Newt’s brow creased. “I hadn’t.”

Aziraphale got up at once, bustling through to the shop. “I’m sorry,” he said, “the shop is mostly definitely closed.”

The man in the doorway turned with a cautious, lop-sided grin. “Aziraphale,” Anthony said. “It’s me.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s hand fluttered to his chest automatically. Oh my. Anthony. Yes. Here. On his invitation. Smiling shyly. Resplendent in the morning sunlight. Oh dear. “Yes! Anthony! Of course! Come in, please!”

“You said the shop’s closed,” Anthony said, hand still on the door knob. “I could–”

“Not at _all_!” Aziraphale insisted, hurrying towards him. “Please! A friend is always welcome.” He beamed at him. “I didn’t expect you to be up and about so early, especially after such an exciting afternoon.” He looked the man up and down. Black-clad and slinky as always, he didn’t seem any the worse for wear. “How are you? Feeling all right? Not too knocked about after yesterday?”

Anthony’s glasses slid a bit down his nose, his mouth open in evident surprise. “Ngh. No. Good. Fine. All good. Bit bruised, but fine.”

Relief rushed through Aziraphale like a cool breeze. “Oh, I _am_ glad.” He hesitated, then touched the man’s arm. “Join us for breakfast, won’t you?”

Anthony made some strangled sounds, but nodded and let Aziraphale steer him through to the kitchen, where Newt must have overheard and was already laying out a third plate.

“Newt, this is Anthony,” Aziraphale said warmly. “He helped me escape the lair yesterday.”

“Weh– Ngh – y’did most of that yourself,” Anthony mumbled, folding down into one of the chairs, limbs collapsing inward like an umbrella.

“D’you want an egg or bacon or both?” Newt inquired. “I’ve got the toast warm in the oven.”

“Er…”

“You tend to yours, Newt, and I’ll look after my guest,” Aziraphale said with a quick smile. Poor Anthony looked entirely overwhelmed and no wonder. He hadn’t expected to be hauled in to an impromptu breakfast.

Newt stacked a plate high and filled himself a cup of tea. “I’ll go and sit out the front,” he said in a remarkably tactful show of compassion for the flustered man hunched up at the table. “Just in case we have any customers popping in.”

Aziraphale shot him a grateful smile, then took his place at the cooker. “Do you like scrambled eggs?” he inquired, glancing over his shoulder. “I could whip up a pan.”

Anthony was practically folded in half on the chair, his chin propped on his knee, and despite the fact he was again – still – wearing his dark glasses, Aziraphale had a feeling the man was staring at him. “I dunno,” he finally said. “Never tried scrambled eggs.”

“Never had–” It was Aziraphale’s turn to gape in astonishment. “Well, then, let me tempt you!” He turned his attention to the fridge, scooping out a fresh armful of ingredients. If the poor chap had never tried scrambled eggs, then he would simply have to have the best eggs Aziraphale could make. “Be a dear and pour the tea, would you? This’ll only take a few minutes.”

The chair clattered and in the reflection on the shiny metal of the extractor fan hood, Aziraphale could see the man moving about gingerly, a nervous shadow behind his back.

A spot of milk for me,” he said. “If you take sugar, it’s in the jar beside the kettle.”

He left Anthony to clatter about with cups and spoons and set to work. A dollop of golden butter gently pooled in the pan as he whipped together some eggs. Bit of salt and pepper and he poured them into the pan, stirring steadily.

After a moment, he became very aware of a warm presence at his back and turned, yelping in surprise when he found Anthony’s head poking over his shoulder.

“How’re you doing that?” Anthony inquired, fascinated. “Making it turn yellow and fluffy?”

Aziraphale looked down at the pan. “It’s… that’s how they cook.”

“Huh.” It almost seemed as if he had never seen something being cooked before.

“Do you want to try?” Aziraphale suggested, offering the spatula.

“Ngh!” Anthony backed up a step. “I’ll destroy it.”

“Nonsense,” Aziraphale said warmly. “I’ll walk you through it.”

Gingerly, as if it might bite him, Anthony took the spatula and cautiously started poking at the eggs.

“You have to keep stirring them gently so they don’t stick to the bottom of the pan,” Aziraphale said, stepping beside him to cover his hand and guide it. “You see? Not too hard or you’ll break it apart, but not too softly either.”

Anthony’s hand twitched under his and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Like this?”

“Exactly.” Aziraphale withdrew his hand to fetch the plates from further along the counter. “And Newt has left us enough bacon to share as well.”

“Mf. Sounds good.”

Aziraphale doled out the rashers of bacon, still warm in their pan, then retrieved the spatula from Anthony and scraped a generous heap of eggs onto each plate. Admittedly, he slid a little more on to Anthony’s. The man was skinny as a rake after all.

“Would you like some toast?”

“K. I mean, if there’s enough.” Anthony retreated to the table, carrying the mugs of tea, and arranged his limbs back onto the seat. He drummed his fingertips on the edge of the table, then burst out, “Why are you doing this?”

“Making breakfast?” Aziraphale smiled as he buttered and sliced the toast into triangles, arranging them on the edge of the plate. “Because I’m hungry.”

“Ngh! No! Inviting me in!” Anthony sat bolt upright, taut as a bow. “You don’t even know me!”

Aziraphale gazed at him, positively vibrating with anxiety. “Well then,” he said, setting down the plates on the table. “Let’s start, shall we?” He offered his hand. “I’m Aziraphale Fell. This is my bookshop. And I would very much like to share breakfast with you.”

Anthony hunched in on himself, fingers curled over his knees, then stuck out one hand to squeeze Aziraphale’s. “Crowley. Just call me Crowley. Don’t like Anthony.”

“There,” Aziraphale said, pleased. “That wasn’t so dreadful, was it?” He settled down on the other chair, adding a sprinkle of pepper to his eggs. “Eat up, dear boy. Better warm than cold.”

Crowley picked up his fork, prodding suspiciously at the eggs, but the moment he took a mouthful, a light seemed to go on and he dived in with aplomb, shovelling forkfuls into his mouth as if it might be taken away if he didn’t eat it quickly.

“S’good!” he exclaimed, between mouthfuls. “S’really good.”

Aziraphale felt the snap and release of tension that had been coiling up his back and tucked into his own breakfast. “I’m glad you like it,” he said, deftly stacking layers of bacon and egg onto a wedge of toast and delicately conveying it to his mouth.

His guest’s plate was cleared before Aziraphale even got to his second slice of toast and Crowley propped his arms on his upraised knees, cupping his mug between long, slim fingers. He tended to sway, Aziraphale noticed, gently rocking himself from side-to-side as he watched Aziraphale eat.

“Not a big cook, I assume?” Aziraphale inquired as he built himself another bite-size pyramid on his fork.

Crowley shook his head, the waves of his dark hair catching on his cheekbones. “Never got the chance to learn. Not really… cook-friendly.”

“Well, consider this a new skill to take away with you.” When Aziraphale smiled at him, Crowley smiled back, that lop-sided, cautious expression as if he wasn’t quite used to it.

“D’you often cook for random strangers?” Crowley propped his elbow on the table, cupping his chin in his hand, his whole body arcing towards Aziraphale, curious and attentive.

“Are we really strangers when we’ve been on such an adventure together?” Aziraphale replied, delighting in the nonplussed look that spread across Crowley’s face. “Yesterday? We raided a supervillain’s lair and both got out in one piece.”

“Oh! Right! Ngh!” When Crowley hunched his narrow shoulders, he looked like a shabby crow ducking under its wings against the rain. “Well. S’pose. Yeah.” He dipped back in the chair, frowning down at the mug in front of him. “What you said. About beating the Serpent. You meant that?”

Knife and fork tinked down on Aziraphale’s empty plate and he dabbed at his lips with a napkin. “I did. I made some notes after I got back last night.” A froth of excitement bubbled up in his chest. “Oh! You can look over them with me! See if we can piece together what he’s up to!”

“Me?” Crowley croaked.

“If you like.” Aziraphale leapt to his feet, clasping his hands together eagerly. “You had a close-up look at the board. Perhaps you spotted something I missed.” He beckoned eagerly. “Come along! Let’s see if we can’t solve this mystery!”

For someone who sauntered like a rock and roll musician, Crowley stepped remarkably lightly. Aziraphale had to turn to check the man had followed him from the kitchen, very nearly jumping at how close Crowley was behind him.

“Good lord, you’re a quiet one.”

A flicker of a wry grin crossed Crowley’s face. “Sneaky one, me.”

“So I see,” Aziraphale retorted, then waved a hand to the sprawling mess of notes and papers on the table. “This is what I managed to remember last night.” He winced at the sight of a cupcake case – still crumby – tucked among the pages, but Crowley didn’t seem to notice. “If you spot–”

“All this?” Crowley dropped into one of the chairs beside the table, riffling through the pages. “You were only in there thirty seconds!”

Aziraphale sheepishly smiled. “I have a rather good memory, that’s all.”

“Rather good, he says,” Crowley mumbled, picking up one page, then turning over another. “Someone’s sake…”

Aziraphale’s face warmed as he sat down. “It’s only a few notes.”

“Uh huh. A few.” Crowley gave him a pointed look, eyebrows shooting ceilingwards, as he held up Aziraphale’s rudimentary attempt to sketch down the DNA sequence. He turned back to the table, hunching over the pages. “You’ve got… there’s… how the hell…”

“Is there anything you can remember that I’ve missed?”

Crowley shook his head. “You’ve – this – I didn’t see anything else.”

Like a deflating balloon, Aziraphale sagged in his chair. “Oh.”

“What oh?” Crowley inquired. “That sounded like a bad oh?”

“It doesn’t make sense!” Aziraphale waved expansively to the pages. “I spent all night going through everything and I can’t make head nor tail of it. Is it in code? What am I missing?”

Crowley pursed his lips. “Well, he _is_ a villain and you’re…” He fidgeted on his seat. “Well, you’re not, are you?”

Despite the fact it left him neck-deep in the dark, the man’s words were oddly comforting. It certainly explained a lot of he simply lacked the criminal mind to understand the scribbled mess of notes that the Serpent had left lying around.

“I suppose not,” he agreed, shuffling the pages together. “I just… I would like to feel I was doing _something_.” He brightened. “Oh! Actually, that reminds me! We’re doing a flash riot this afternoon.”

“Flash… riot?”

Aziraphale frowned in thought. “Wait. No. That’s not right.” He leaned sideways on his chair, peering around towards the till. “Newt? What are those gatherings called again? The one when people all gather unexpectedly?”

“Flash mob?” Newt called back helpfully.

“Ah! Yes!” Aziraphale beamed at his guest. “A ‘flash mob’. We’ve been doing them a couple of times a week.”

Crowley cocked his head like a curious bird. “I haven’t seen any mobs,” he said. “Not a torch or pitchfork anywhere.”

It took a moment for Aziraphale to catch his meaning. “Oh! Oh no, dear chap! We’ve been doing litter-picking, since the council have been somewhat distracted.” He gave a happy wiggle. “We’re working on cleaning up the city.”

“The city’s a mess?”

“Well.” Aziraphale winced. “You must have noticed that the rubbish collection and general upkeep and everything has fallen by the wayside. The Serpent hasn’t done as much damage as we expected, but the infrastructure that keeps everything running has fallen apart.”

“Infrastructure,” Crowley echoed, sounding more and more perplexed by the moment.

“You know. All the public services?”

“Oh! Right! Like… like ducks!”

“The parks certainly,” Aziraphale agreed. “We’ve got a group scheduled to go and do some cleaning up there on Friday.”

“Huh.” Crowley sank back in his seat. “Didn’t know people actually did that stuff. I mean work-people, not people-people.”

Aziraphale smiled crookedly. “Well, it would be lovely if it happened as if by magic, but sadly, we live in the real world.” He hesitated, wondering how much was too much when interacting with a nice man. “If you like, you could join us. Join the revolution.”

Crowley made a sputtering sound like a half-empty kettle. “Me? Sticking it to the man?”

“Well, to the Serpent, really,” Aziraphale agreed, smiling.

Crowley stared at him – or at least Aziraphale presumed so, behind those dark lenses – then unfolded hurriedly. “I should head off. Forgot. I’m late. Stuff to see. People to do. You know. Things.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale nodded. “Of course.” He offered his hand again. “It was lovely to see you again.”

Crowley glanced down at his hand, then back up at his face. Gingerly, he took and shook Aziraphale’s broader hand. “Ngh. You too. And breakfast. Ta.”

And before Aziraphale could say anything more, Crowley had bolted across the polished floor and out the door, the bell jangling in his wake.

“He seemed nice,” Newt volunteered from his nook beside the till. “Very… bendy.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale murmured, walking over to peer out the door. “He did, didn’t he?”

______________________

Debris scattered everywhere, shattered fragments flying, sticky ichor all over his innocent hands.

“Fuck!” shouted Crowley.

Should’ve been easy. Should’ve! He’d watched. Seen how it was done. One crack. Two cracks and behold! Deliciousness! But no! The traitorous hard-cased oval had exploded, slathering his fingers with clear and yellow goo and fragments. How the hell was something so fragile meant to come out of a chicken’s arse anyway? Surely they should have been peppered with shrapnel!

He stormed across the floor, boots clumping on the tiles and stuck his hands under the tap again, washing the pieces of egg off his skin.

Okay. So. Scientifically…

He wiped his hands dry and prowled back to the end of the glistening metal counter. He’d never really had a kitchen before he took over the Mayor’s buildings, but this one was huge. More cookers than you could shake a stick at, although he hadn’t even _tried_ switching one of them on yet.

“Right,” he growled at the remaining four eggs in the box. “One of you is going to open properly.”

So far, he’d tried smacking the side of the egg on the edge of the bowl. First – too hard and shattered completely on impact. Second – too soft and _then_ too hard and shattered on impact. Third – nice crack along the sides, then squeezed too hard trying to open it and shattered. Same went for four through to eight.

He paced in a tight circle. It was all about controlling the pressure, wasn’t it? Couldn’t go in too hard or it’d break. So slow? Maybe…

“Aha!”

He clattered all the way back from the kitchen, up the broad marble staircases, around the long twisty corridors, into the former Mayor’s office and now his stash of useful things. Crawling over the heap of chairs, he groped underneath, frowning.

“Eric! Where’s my diamond drill?”

“Boss?”

Suspended upside down over the arm of a chair, Crowley glared at him. “You moved my diamond drill.”

“I put it back where you left it,” Eric retorted, jerking his thumb towards the big fancy glass cabinet that had – until recently – been chockful of books and awards and all kinds of bollocks. Now it _sparkled_ with all the tools and weapons.

“Right! Yes!” Crowley hurled himself down the cascading pile of chairs and crashed over to the case. “Perfect!” He fished the drill in question out and headed for the door.

“Uh… boss?”

He sighed, swinging around. “What?”

“It’s 3pm.”

Crowley frowned. “Yeah. Well done. You can tell the time.”

Eric rolled his eyes expressively. He’d started adding fancy new lashes to his ensemble and it made the eyeroll even more impressive. Hmm. Maybe it would be worth considering them for future outfits. If it could make a minion look–

“Your master plan?” Eric said pointedly. “Tall, dark, superpowered? Gave you an appointment?”

“Ngh! Right! Yes!” Crowley shot a mournful look at the drill. Eggs would have to wait. “Did you ring his secretary?”

“Got a warehouse reserved across town,” Eric confirmed. “It’s a bit much to have to book an appointment with your hero, though.”

It was a bit, but Crowley decided not to dignify him with a response. “Right. Warehouse.” He eyed his sidekick. “Are you coming?”

Eric gave him an expressive roll of his eyes. “How else are you going to get there?” he inquired. “Walk? It’s not like you can show up in the Bentley.”

“Shut up,” Crowley said with authoritative succinctness.

Ten minutes later, they were in an Uber – an _Uber_. Sweet Satan, the indignity! – and whizzing across town in the rattling old wreck of a car, their driver giving them funny looks in the mirror.

“What?” Crowley snarled.

“Ye’re no’ witches, are ye?”

Right. Okay. Humans were weird. “I– you– what?”

“The robe and the hat and all,” the driver said, as if this was a completely normal topic of conversation. “I’m no’ one for having witches in the car.”

“No,” Crowley huffed, looking wildly at Eric, who shrugged helplessly. “Not a witch.” The driver grunted and turned his attention back to the road and Crowley smacked Eric on the arm. “What the hell?” he hissed to him. “You couldn’t just get a normal person?”

Eric pulled a face. “Next time, you try and find someone willing to drive around the city,” he grumbled.

Crowley very nearly demanded to know why no one wanted to do it, but – because karma is a bugger – saw and overturned bus by the side of the road and the proverbial circuit connected. “Ah. Right. Yes.”

Ten minutes later – ha! No traffic! See? There were benefits! – they pulled up outside of the non-descript warehouse and Eric lead the way in. All things considered, he’d done a stellar job with mannequins and dioramas and dramatic targets and things. He even had camera arrays so they could record the footage for lesson plans.

“Eh,” Crowley said approvingly.

“And!” Eric exclaimed triumphantly, “I have one last thing, just in case.” He rooted around in his pockets, then whipped out two polished copper bracelets. “I mean, it’s not going to help if it’s a big meltdown, but it might slow him down if he loses control.”

Crowley took one of the bracelets, turning it over. Small hinge, clasp, nice and simple. Probably not necessary, but a good back up anyway. “Not bad.”

Eric beamed and adjusted his hat as he bustled over to the monitors along one wall. “Now we just have to wait for him to–”

The crash from above made both of them shriek.

West burst through the roof, dazzlingly bright in the shaft of sunlight, in a–

“Wait!” Crowley exclaimed indignantly, shoving the bracelets in his capacious pocket. “What the hell is that?”

Gabriel alighted on the floor and struck a heroic pose, looking off into middle-distance. “Looks pretty good, huh?” He put his hands on his hips, his bodysuit shimmering white with patterns of gold in the shape of wings across the flaring cape. And was that a–

“Why do you have that on the front?” Eric inquired, peering at the same thing Crowley had spotted – a broad golden crest plastered across his chest. “It looks like that big sports company’s logo.”

West looked down and flashed that laser white smile. “Corporate sponsorship, buddy! You have _no_ idea! They’re lining up for a chance to sponsor the city’s new hero.”

“The city’s new…” Crowley held up both hands. “Hold on, hold on! You’ve not even had your training yet! You _can’t_ be a hero yet!”

“Wrong again,” West said, flinging his arm’s wide. “I had a dozen interviews already this morning, showed them my stuff. Yeah, I’m figuring things out, but who’s gonna argue with a guy who can fly, am I right?” He zipped across the floor into Crowley’s space and wrapped an arm around his shoulders in a bone-crunching squeeze. “I even picked out a name! Call me”– he painted a hand across the air in front of them–“Archangel.”

“I – you – no!” Crowley tried to shove him off. “Look, there’s a tradition! You have to be trained before you reveal yourself! We have to get you to the top of your game!”

The slap between his shoulders sent him rolling across the floor.

“Buddy! Don’t worry! It’s not that hard! I got the flying down and hey, look at this!” West spun around and fired a concentrated ice-white blast of light from his eyes. Eric screeched, diving for cover, as it sliced through half the training array, the screens, the dummies and sheared off a chunk of the wall and ceiling. “Pretty neat, huh?”

“Neat?” Crowley squawked from the floor. “ _Neat_! You… you destroyed the place! You’re not meant to do that!”

“Tomato, tomato.” West waved a hand dismissively. “She made it look so hard, but there’s nothing to it.”

Crowley glanced sidelong at the flames licking down the edge of the wall. Say what you liked about Divine, but she’d always been very strict about the no unnecessary damage to public property. He’d even limited his own because of it. She tended to punch harder if you didn’t.

“Uh. Maybe we should see about some target practise?” he suggested weakly. “I mean, you don’t want to hit innocent civilians when you fight the Serpent, do you?”

“Oh riiiiight.” West gave him a wink. “Got to play the hero.”

“Play the– no! You’ve got to _be_ the hero!” Crowley snapped his fingers. “Get the targets up and running!” Eric threw up his hands behind West’s back, then waved pointedly at the smouldering remains of their training facilities. “…um… or maybe we can just do the flight practise?”

West checked his watch. “Okay. We’ve got one hour, then I need to be back at the studio for a press conference with the global press.”

Crowley stared at him. “But you haven’t even _done_ anything yet!” he wailed.

“Ha!” Gabriel grinned at him. “You got to whet their appetite first. Don’t want them to think they’re getting something for nothing.”

Apparently, goggling was a thing people really did. Crowley had been pretty sure it wasn’t real until his mouth dropped open and he did it. Properly goggled. Like an idiot. Agog. Gogging.

“So?” West clapped his hands together. “Let’s do this, Space-guy!”

“Yeah,” Crowley said. “All right.” He waved towards the ceiling. “A hundred laps. Go.”

As soon as Gabriel was zipping in loops around the ceiling, Eric sidled towards Crowley, looking warily around at the smouldering building and shattered equipment.

“Boss…”

“He’s just excited,” Crowley said in an undertone. “That’s all.”

As the blur at the ceiling level turned into a ring of white and whooped triumphantly, Crowley stared up with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Just excited. He had to be just excited. Nothing to worry about at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen the lovely art on chapter 3 provided by Tarek, please go and look! :D It's fab!

“And then!” Crowley jabbed with his metal prong, “And _then_ , the cheeky bugger said ‘thanks for your time! Catch you later!’ and was out the door before I could even give him his performance review!”

Aziraphale grimace in sympathy. “That does sound very frustrating,” he said, holding open the bin liner for Crowley’s accumulated spiked pieces of litter.

In the warm spring sunlight, they were clearing the grassy verges around the duck pond and Crowley had taken to skewering the scattered crisp packs and cans with great aplomb. The fact he added dramatic flourishes and lunged like he was duelling only added to the charm.

“And the thing is,” Crowley grumbled, shaking off his collection into the bag, “I put him where he is and now, he’s acting like he got there himself. All the glory, all the credit, oh no, he did it by himself!” He made a sound of disgust. “He’s a complete wanker.”

Aziraphale glanced around to be sure none of the other members of their little flash mob were close enough to overhear. One had to maintain appearances after all. “I know someone of that ilk,” he confided, leaning closer conspiratorially. “The way he acts, one would assume that the sun did in fact shine out of his arse.”

Crowley gave a bark of laughter, flashing his crook-toothed grin. “Look at you! Being all petty! It’s a good colour on you.”

“Oh hush!” Aziraphale swatted him reproachfully on the leg with his litter picker.

“And assault and battery!” Crowley wailed.

“You are a _terrible_ person.”

Crowley laughed. He’d started doing it more often and, frequently, getting bashful immediately afterwards. This time, he just ducked his head, scuffed his foot, and resumed jousting with fallen rubbish.

They continued around the park, meandering along the paths around the murky duckpond and falling back into a steady rhythm of teasing and talk, sometimes about the bookshop, sometimes about Crowley’s unspecified work, sometimes about little recipes Crowley had been trying after a successful bout of eggs. And, after stumbling on an abandoned pack of cards, a brief display of legerdemain that left Crowley gaping in bewilderment.

“That’s not magic!” he spluttered. “It’s just a trick! You just moved the card somewhere else.”

“Ah, but it is a trick!” Aziraphale retorted, beaming. “A _magic_ trick! Sleight of hand counts as magic!”

“S’misdirection, is what it is,” Crowley grumbled. Still, ten steps on, he paused and said, “Want to see me make something disappear?”

“Go on.”

Crowley dramatically pinched a crisp packet off the ground. “Nothing up my sleeves!” He waggled his litter picker mystically. “One, two…” And with a flourish, he dropped it in the bin bag, eyebrows up and mouth open in mock surprise. “Behold! It has vanished!”

“Ha! I hardly think so!”

“Did too! Can you see it? No you can’t. Ergo, vanished.”

“You just put in a different place where I can’t see it.”

“Yup.” Crowley grinned, all teeth. “Misdirection.”

Aziraphale snorted aloud. He had to admit it was a delight to see the man coming out of his shell, no longer nearly so tense or uncertain. He had a wry sense of humour, a wicked turn of phrase and there was something delightfully familiar about that crooked smile, though for the life of him, Aziraphale couldn’t place it.

“Can’t believe this place is almost done,” Crowley said, as they came around the far end of the duck pond, their bag so full that they were forced to drag it together. “Still don’t know how people made such a mess of the place.”

“Oh don’t start that again,” Aziraphale said with a stern look. “You know very well about the bin situation.”

“I do,” Crowley agreed, “but didn’t mean they had to throw stuff at the ducks. There’s bins not getting emptied and then there’s shoving used sex stuff into the duck pond.”

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “I suppose some people are just antisocial,” he admitted. “Though I suppose having nowhere else to put it didn’t help.”

“In a bag! Like us!” Crowley exclaimed.

Honestly, his righteous indignation was downright charming.

“And anyway,” Crowley continued, as they hauled the bag up into the back of a van he’d brought along for the purpose, “your bin problem will be sorted out soon enough.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale inquired, then winced. “Ah. I suppose you mean our new hero will sweep in and save us.”

Crowley straightened up as if he hadn’t even thought of that. “Oh. Right. Yeah. Him.”

Gabriel West.

The man had been plastered all over every current affairs television show, magazine, paper and radio show. Or ‘Archangel’ as he was calling himself. Apparently, he could fly now – not very well, admittedly – and perform feats of strength and agility beyond the skill of the average man. He’d amassed himself quite a following, who had enjoyed his news shows and were even more delighted that the obnoxious creature was apparently now super powered.

Aziraphale scowled moodily at the bag of rubbish as he cleaned his hands on a wet wipe. If Gabriel was as impressive as he insisted, he could have cleared half the mess in seconds, but instead, he was doing photoshoots and lining up interviews with anyone who would speak to him.

“You don’t look convinced,” Crowley said.

“No. I–” Aziraphale sighed and rubbed at his temple. “All the articles keep announcing he’s our new hero and yet, I don’t think anyone has seen him do _anything_ remotely heroic.”

Crowley sat down on the floor of the van, legs folded to prop on the bumper. “He did that flying stuff,” he suggested. “And the lazer-eye trick. And lifted that couch with the reporters on it.”

“Showboating.” Aziraphale waved his words away. “Putting himself on display for his empty-headed fans.” He glanced around the park, at their throng of volunteers who had been working on and off for nearly a week. “Everyone here has done far more heroic things than that… charlatan.”

“Ngh.” Crowley hunched on himself. “S’not that much. Just picking up some stuff.”

“It’s still much more than he’s ever done!” Aziraphale sat down beside him and squeezed his arm. “I’ve known him for quite some time and frankly, if he can’t make a profit or a headline from it, he won’t do anything.”

Crowley seemed to curl even more tightly in on himself, oddly morose. “Mm.”

“Oh don’t fret,” Aziraphale said gently. “I’m sure he’ll be splendid once he gets started. It’s just… I’m letting old familiarity sour my opinion.”

Crowley nodded, curling and uncurling one hand on his upraised knee. “S’pose.”

Aziraphale studied him, concerned. He’d been so animated and cheerful all afternoon. Perhaps all the exertion had taken it out of him. “We should do something,” he blurted out. “To celebrate! We finished the park after all!”

“Ungh?” Crowley rolled his head to peer at him, eyebrows rising over his glasses.

“Dinner!” Aziraphale suggested hopefully, hoping to garner that wicked smile again. “Go for a picnic! Dine at the Ritz!”

One side of Crowley’s mouth curled and relief welled in Aziraphale’s chest. “Yeah?”

“If you like?”

Crowley ducked his head, chewing on his lip. “Maybe Wednesday? Got stuff on tonight and tomorrow.”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “Splendid.”

_____________________________________

“But… er… your Highness?”

Crowley glanced at another of the pale and anxious faces lining the long conference table, arching an eyebrow as menacingly as he could. “ _What_?”

“These figures…” The older man who had spoken self-consciously looked at his colleagues who all – with remarkable self-preservation skills – stared down at the table top. “Sir, you’re proposing to double the workers’ salaries?”

“Yes,” Crowley agreed, sprawling back in his chair, one leg flung over the arm. “What of it?”

“Sir, they’re… it’s…” Seeing he would get no help or support from his comrades, he blurted out, “It’s unnecessary! They’re just rubbish collectors!”

Crowley gave him a look. It was a _good_ look, a useful one, one that generally had the average human cowering and wibbling in seconds. It was a look that said “you clearly haven’t realised that you’re an idiot, but I will wait for the penny to drop and for your entire world to implode in on that pea you consider a brain”.

He gave it a few seconds, then very calmly and pointedly inquired, “ _Just_?”

Unfortunately, this idiot’s pea-sized brain had a nuclear bunker. “They’re labourers!” the man continued, seemingly unaware of the precipice he was teetering over. “No qualifications to speak of or anything!”

With a sweep of movement, Crowley swung from his sprawl into an upright position on his chair, folding his hands on the table. Several chairs squeaked as some of the besuited lackeys shuffled away from their big-of-mouth, small-of-brain colleague.

“We will be paying the salaries I have indicated,” Crowley said silkily. “I like to promote loyalty in my staff, after all. And you… what was your name again?”

“Tyler, sir! R. P. Tyler.”

Crowley grinned snakily at him. “I have a new job for you. We’ll–” A cough from the door made him turn impatiently. “What?”

Eric peered in apprehensively. “Sorry, boss. You have your thing. At four.”

Crowley grimaced. “Right. Tyler? You’re going to go on bin lorry duty with the teams tomorrow. Unpaid apprenticeship, since that’s how much you value it.”

“Sir!” Tyler squawked.

“Consider it a valuable learning experience.” Crowley sauntered towards the door without looking back, pulling it shut behind him, and gave Eric a glare. “You interrupted me mid-threat!”

“I know,” Eric mumbled, “but you know how fidgety the arsehole gets if we’re not there waiting for him.”

Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong and Crowley – grumbling all the way – switched up the appearance generator as they made their way down to the car. As usual, Shadwell was waiting for them, grousing over something or other.

“Those people,” Eric said after several minutes of silence. “What d’you have them in for?”

Crowley hunkered awkwardly down in the back seat, robes poofed up over his legs. “They’re called ‘accountants’.”

“Yeah, I know that, but why? Don’t you want to be in charge?”

Thank someone for the chameleon circuit of the appearance generator that hid the fact he was going bright red under his disguise. “I don’t know how money works!” he hissed. “Okay? I didn’t know about it when I was a kid and I didn’t use it and I don’t know how it works!”

Eric gawped at him. “Not at all?”

Crowley hunched in on himself. “Why would I need it back there?” he muttered moodily. “Not like I went anywhere. Or could buy anything.”

“Ah.” Eric peered out the window, the back of his neck red as a tomato. “Makes sense.” He picked at a loose sequin on his robe. “Why’d’you need someone to do stuff with money, though?”

“Eh?”

His minion looked at him, a furrow creasing between his eyebrows. “You buy the things you want. You always did, when you didn’t just take them. Why d’you need these accountants? S’not like you pay taxes or anything like that.”

The car was too enclosed and too warm. Crowley shifted self-consciously, shrugging as he smoothed, then adjusted his robes over his knees again. “City’s gone a bit to shit,” he mumbled. “Need to sort out the infrastructure.”

“ _Infrastructure_?” Eric’s skinny hand locked around his arm. “Who are you and what have you done to my boss?”

“Sod off!” Crowley shook his hand off. “I just– look, I can be an evil–”

“AHEM!” Eric jerked his head emphatically towards their driver, who seemed to be swearing at the– oh for someone’s sake, was that an actual _cassette_ player? How old was this heap of junk? 

“I’m just saying,” Crowley corrected himself. “I can be a… ruthless manager but I don’t have to be a _ruthless_ manager.” He raised his eyebrows. “D’you know what I mean?”

“Not even a bit,” Eric replied with a forlorn shake of his head.

“Look!” Squirming as much as his robes would let him, Crowley twisted to face him. “S’about loyalty. I can make the people loyal to me.”

At once, a clammy hand pressed to his forehead. “You _are_ sick.”

“Geroff!” Crowley swatted Eric’s hand away. “Just think about it! Thousands of people back in work, getting paid, grateful!”

“For jobs you… um… had them fired from!” Eric protested hotly. “That won’t make anyone loyal to you. Being less of a vil– an arsehole doesn’t mean you haven’t been an arsehole!”

“Oi!”

“I’m just saying!”

A hacking cough from the front seat made them both very aware that the car had stopped and their driver was staring at them like some kind of circus performance. “D’ye mind?” he demanded grumpily. “Got the wifey next door howlin’ and bangin’ at all hours and now you?”

Self-consciously, Crowley scrambled out of the car behind Eric, shaking out his robes and stamping towards the warehouse. Since they were playing the good guys, they’d had to pay for the repairs and bloody Gabriel liked making an entrance. Crowley wondered how many more holes the roof could take before it gave up the ghost.

“Boss.” Eric trotted after him.

“Don’t start,” Crowley growled. “I’m in charge. If I say we’re going to try and get this city working again, we are, understood?”

“Yeah. Course.” Eric closed the door behind them, locking it. “But I’m… you… you’re still going to need the outfits? I mean, you’re not going to go all… corporate, are you?”

Crowley spun to stare at him. “Corporate? Do I look like the kind of person to wear a suit?”

Eric’s face lit up with relief. “Oh good! I just worked out how to fit the defence bubble thingie! I didn’t want it to go to waste!”

Of course that’s what he was worried about, poor little sod. Loved the flash and bang.

“I’m never giving up the outfits,” Crowley promised, slapping him firmly on the shoulder. “Can’t go without my tailor, can I?”

Eric beamed but it turned into a wince at an all too familiar crash above them. “I’ll go and get the brush,” he said.

Crowley sighed, pivoting to face Gabriel. “Ah, Mr. West.”

“Please,” the man flashed that white smile at him. “Call me Archangel.”

_____________________________________

In the quiet of the backroom of the bookshop, Aziraphale swung gently from side to side in his swivel chair. He tapped his lower lip with his knuckle pensively, then looked back at the little camera Newt had arranged for him.

“It’s all very strange,” he admitted. “By all accounts, things are happening. Public transport is running again. We even had our first rubbish collection in weeks. I didn’t think it was possible, but it does seem like the Serpent is trying to be responsible.” He laughed at the thought of the somewhat inept villain’s usual wily plans. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m delighted, but honestly? I didn’t imagine this would be how the city would get back on its feet.”

He rocked back in his seat and gazed blindly above the camera at his bookshelves. It _had_ been a strange few weeks. Hardly anyone had seen hide nor hair of the Serpent outside of the town hall, while their so-called hero had been on the front of every magazine and in every news programme despite – and Aziraphale pardoned his own French – doing bugger all.

On top of everything else, he’d heard the gossip through Newt and Anathema. According to hearsay, people working in the hardest and dirtiest of jobs were suddenly getting a much higher income for their work, while several stuffy, conceited men who looked like they should be in offices were huffing through unpaid internships.

It ought not to have amused him as much as it did, but seeing one of the most petty and spiteful bureaucrats from the city council trying to hoist a full bin, red-faced and warily eyeing the minion supervising him, had been so very satisfying.

“Now,” he continued, folding his hands in front of him. “I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. I know it would never have needed to be fixed if it hadn’t been broken to begin with, but it’s a small victory and I’m happy to take it.” He looked back at the camera with a small smile. “I hope the Serpent continues on this path. I’m interested to see what he’ll do next.”

As per Newt’s instructions, he pressed the spacebar on the keyboard to stop the video and sat for a moment, before rising and going back through to the shop.

“Finished already?” Newt inquired from the table in the largest of the reading nooks. Anathema was curled on the chair beside him, leafing through a notepad.

Aziraphale nodded. “Only a small one today.” He approached the table. “What are you two up to?”

Anathema turned the notebook in her hand, showing him his own handwriting. “Did you get anywhere with all of this?”

In all the busyness of the past few weeks, he hadn’t had time to dig deeper into the notes he had made on his discoveries in the Serpent’s laboratory. Not that they made much sense at all, as far as he could see. The Serpent’s experiment style seemed to follow the same chaotic pattern as his nefarious schemes, random thoughts and equations dotted around sketches of spirals and serpentine coils.

“I’m afraid not,” he admitted. “I know he was up to something, but I can’t make head nor tail of it all.”

“There’s some DNA stuff over here,” Newt said, shuffling through the pages. “He does that cloning stuff, doesn’t he? I mean, his minions look like that sidekick of his.”

Aziraphale sank into the third seat. “I don’t think so,” he demurred. “He calls them the shrubs and from my experience of them, they don’t seem to be more than oddly-green mannequins. They can take a direct order, but they don’t have much imagination when it comes to following them.”

“Oh!” Anathema leaned down off her chair, hauling an ominously large and jangly handbag off the floor. “This is it! I knew this felt important!” She whipped small reporter’s notepad out of the bag, flipping through the pages. “Aha! A God will fall and from their ashes, angels arise!”

Across the table, Newt and Aziraphale exchanged puzzled glances.

“One of your prophecies?” Aziraphale guessed.

She nodded. “It all makes sense! Divine is the God, right?”

“Yes, but I don’t–”

“What happened to Divine’s body?” she interrupted, eyes bright and more than a little wild.

The memory of the rattle and scrape of bone on the floor and the scent of dust and ashes had Aziraphale on his feet and walking away in an instant. His stomach roiled, acid in his throat, and he tried to quash down the anger that she would poke at him as rudely as Gabriel had.

Behind him, Newt was urgently shushing her and Anathema was talking in equally urgent hushed tones.

And now that he paused and thought about it, Aziraphale frowned. What _had_ happened to Divine’s body? She had burned up. _She_ had. Nothing but bone left. But… but… but…

Recollection struck him like a thunderbolt.

“He had her cape,” he said softly.

“What’s that?” Newt inquired.

Aziraphale turned. “The Serpent. He had her cape. It didn’t burn. He took it from her ashes.” He hurried back across to the table. “I saw it in his lab. It was folded up beside all of this.” He looked between them. “I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

“So he had a piece of her clothing?” Newt frowned, then his mouth dropped open. “He had a piece of her DNA! That’s what he was doing!”

Aziraphale sagged back into the chair. “Surely he wouldn’t…”

“Well, he’s not got any real powers,” Anathema said. “Maybe he wanted to finally have them?”

If that had been the case, then why hadn’t the Serpent been causing more carnage? If he had developed some means to filter Divine’s powers from her DNA, surely he would have used it by now? Or perhaps it required a specific means of application. But in the laboratory, the only thing the silly man had cared about was that…

All at once, pieces clicked into place.

“Oh no,” Aziraphale breathed. “It wasn’t for himself. I know what happened.”

He fumbled through the pile of papers, digging out the newspaper from earlier in the week. It had a full colour photograph on the front page with the headline of _Tadfield’s New Hero_. Gabriel West. The man who had taken a blast of… something to the face outside of the Serpent’s lair and, days later, emerged with super powers. Not just any super powers, though. Every one of them seemed to match Divine’s.

Anathema rose, staring down at it. “A God will fall and from their ashes, angels arise…”

“This?” Newt croaked. “ _This_ was the Serpent’s plan?”

Aziraphale’s face burned. “No. Definitely not what he planned.”

“How d’you know?”

He remembered the heavy gun in his hand, the give of the trigger, the ricochet of a gleaming golden ball off the walls and the Serpent lunging to shield him from it before it rebounded out of the building. “Oh. Um. Past experience.” He ran a shaking hand over his face. “This… the Serpent wouldn’t have chosen him.”

“At least he’s useless?” Anathema said. “It’s not like he’s _done_ anything and since the Serpent’s behaving himself, maybe it’ll all be fine?”

Aziraphale looked down at Gabriel’s smug, smiling face. “Yes,” he murmured. “I think that would be better for all concerned.”

_______________________________________

“So that’s the time-out defence fully installed in your watch,” Eric said, trotting along behind Crowley as he made his way down the broad stone staircase. “Since you tested it on all those council people, I managed to improve the stability and now, it should automatically do a wrap-around when you activate it.”

Crowley nodded, distractedly. Outside, the sky was growing dark and the street lamps were glowing gold. Traffic hummed and shuttled by. It almost felt like the city was back to the way it was before everything went… well… sideways.

“I mean, if someone hits it hard enough, it won’t remain intact, but at least it won’t explode anymore.”

“Right.”

“It might turn you inside out, though.”

“Uh huh. That’s…” Pause. Reverse. Playback. Crowley spun, frowning, to face Eric. “Wot?”

From the higher step, Eric made a face at him. “Oh good. So you were listening. I wanted to check.”

“Something turns me inside out?”

His assistant skipped down the last couple of steps to join him on the landing. “The time-out defence. I finished fixing it. It can take a punch without exploding.” He beamed excitedly. “I was thinking we could trial it when we have Mr. West’s next training session.”

Funny how that had about as much appeal as rolling in dog muck in the park.

“Ngh, maybe.” He continued down the stairs, glancing at his watch. “Heading out for a bit.”

“Again?” Eric clattered down after him. “Where do you keep running off to?”

“None of your business.” Crowley paused in the lobby, patting down his utility belt and frowning. “Where the hell are the keys for the–”

A jingle behind him made him turn.

“The Bentley?” Eric said coolly. “I knew it! You’re sneaking off to see him again!”

“Him?” Heat scoured its way up the back of Crowley’s neck. “Who him? What? Nah!”

Eric raised his eyebrows. “Oh really? You haven’t been running off to spend time with your precious angel?”

“Oi!” Crowley exclaimed, relieved. “Why would I spend time with West?”

“West? Ha!” Eric marched down the stairs and jabbed him in the chest. “You and I both know you’ve been seeing Mr. Fell.”

It felt like he’d been dragged up in front of the warden for rewiring the circuits in the prison and plunging the guardroom into the dark again.

“M-Mr. Fell? Don’t talk rubbish!”

Eric produced his phone, scrolling through picture after picture. The flash mob in the park. The book shop. That time they’d stopped for ice cream after Crowley admitted he’d never tried it before. Dozens of incriminating reminders of it all. Of them talking and laughing like normal people.

“So?” Crowley snatched the phone off him, hastily forwarding all the shots to his own. “I’m allowed to see people. I’m allowed to have a… a…” Oh. Hell. “A friend?” Right, no quick. Regain the moral high ground. “Anyway, _you_ shouldn’t have been stalking me!”

“And you should’ve been watching your perimeter!” Eric snatched his phone back. “I can’t believe you’ve gone soft! And for _him_! I mean, I knew you liked him, but to like-like him? And to do… charity stuff. And… and _good deeds_.”

“You take that back!” Crowley blurted out. “That– I– it wasn’t–”

“You picked up rubbish!” Eric wailed. “With your _hands_! What kind of bad guy goes around helping people like that?”

“I – it’s – I can do whatever I want!” Crowley lunged for him. “Now, give me the keys!”

“No!” Eric fled across the lobby. “This is for your own good! Bad! You know what I mean!”

Longer legs and an inclination to be more ruthless meant Crowley caught up with him before he reached the front door, tackling him onto the floor and grabbing at his hand. Eric slapped at him, kicking and squirming.

“How’d’you think this is going to play out?” he demanded. “What’s going to happen when he finds out who you really are?”

Crowley plopped himself down on Eric’s belly, driving the breath out of him and clawing at his hands. “He’s never going to find out! That’s the whole point of being in disguise!”

“You won! We’re in charge! No one laughs at us anymore! They have to listen to us!” Eric wailed. “Why would you give that up? D’you want to go back to the way it was before?”

“I don’t have to give anything up!”

“Yeah you do! D’you think you get a happy ending? Hang up your capes and outfits and settle down? You’re a _bad guy_. Bad guys _never_ get a happy ending!”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to _be_ a bad guy anymore!”

The moment the words left his mouth, Crowley croaked and clapped both hands over it as if it had betrayed him. And it had. Sort of. It let the words that had been curled up in the back of his mind out, stupid treacherous flappy thing that it was.

Eric stared up at him. “You… who _are_ you?”

Crowley stared back, swallowing hard.

“You said we were in this together!” Eric clung to the keys, pressing them against his chest with both hands. “If that’s true, then don’t go and see Mr. Fell.”

“Eric!”

“I’m serious!” He stopped squirming. “F’you go, I’m leaving.”

Crowley reared back staring down at him. “What?”

“You heard me!”

That… it… but they’d always…

No! NO! He was the villain! He was in charge. “Fine.”

“What?” Eric blinked.

He folded his arms, fingers pinching into his arms. “You heard me.”

“But… but you said…” Eric struggled up, shoving Crowley off him. “Right. Okay. Fine. I’ll just go then.” He hurled the car keys at the floor.

Staring at them, then up at Eric, Crowley Curled his hands into the tangle of his cape. “Right.”

He watched as his most faithful aide and minion stormed towards the front door. “Don’t think I’ll be coming back!” Eric yelled over his shoulder. He paused halfway out the door. “Good luck on your date.” Then he slammed the door behind him.

With a shaking hand, Crowley picked up the key. That wasn’t what was meant to happen. They’d been in it together ever since he’d caught the boy trying to pick his pocket as a much smaller human. He’d failed miserably, due to the entire lack of pocket in Crowley’s suit, then laughed himself sick and told Crowley his outfit was bad and how he could make it better.

And he had. He’d made Crowley look like a proper villain and now…

“Never mind him.” Crowley snatched up the keys, turning his back on the doors and the stupid traitor who had walked out on him. “He’ll be back.”

Didn’t look around at all. Didn’t glance back once. Just stamped all the way down to the garage where the Bentley was waiting for him. All fuelled up. And polished. And pristine. He fumbled with the keys. No. No! He wouldn’t think of that ungrateful costume and weapon designer who had just abandoned him! Didn’t matter. Never had.

Switching on his appearance generator, he slunk into the car, eyes rebelliously sliding to the empty passenger…

Wait.

“Oh for Someone’s sake!” Crowley groaned. “Eric!”

The defuser rested on the seat as if it had every right to be there, instead of being locked up on the cabinet back in the Evil Lair™ where it should have been! All right, yes, they’d taken it with them when they’d first gone to find West, but Eric ought to have put it back by now. Instead, he’d spent his time following his boss, like some kind of demented puppy.

Well… at least _that_ wouldn’t be a problem anymore, would it?

Crowley huffed, flicking on the invisible mask for the car, and starting the engine.

He’d arranged to meet Aziraphale at the Ritz, but it wasn’t as if he could just park up in front of the building and pop out of nowhere. Unmasking it wasn’t even an option, not when everyone knew he was the only person in town who had one. Two streets away, he pulled up in front of a suitably memorable shop, then swung out the car and dashed the rest of the way.

As soon as he entered, he spotted Aziraphale on the far side of the restaurant, but he wasn’t alone: a tall, broad-shouldered man in a suit was leaning over him, his back to Crowley.

From the look on Aziraphale’s face, he wasn’t at all happy about it.

Crowley wove his way between tables, customers and waiters, catching the man’s words as he got nearer.

“I’m just saying instead of bigging him up you should talk to a real hero.”

“I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said in a frosty tone, “I’m not interested.”

“It’ll up your viewer numbers.”

“If you think that’s what I’m interested in you’re–” Aziraphale made a sharp sound, like pain, and Crowley suddenly found himself across the rest of the room, people and platters crashing over behind him in his haste.

“Oi!” He caught the man’s arm and wrenched him around.

Only to find horribly familiar violet eyes gazing disdainfully down at him. “Hands off the suit, buddy.”

Heart thundering, Crowley shook his head. “You leave Aziraphale alone,” he said, trying not to let his brain acknowledge the steel-hard muscle tensing under his hand. His brain helpfully decided to add a screeching litany of _shitshitshitshitshit_ to the mental screaming. “He said he wasn’t interested.”

Gabriel West closed his other hand around Crowley’s wrist, squeezing painfully. “I said”–he loomed closer–“hands _off_ the suit.”

“Gabriel!” Aziraphale snapped. “Leave him be. Is this any way for a hero to behave? In front of your viewing public?”

For a terrifyingly long moment, West continued to stare down at Crowley and – shitshitshitshitshiiiiiit!!! – Crowley didn’t want to put too much thought into the tiny glowing white spark in the depth of those purple eyes that seemed to be getting brighter and brighter.

“Ha!”

Crowley stumbled when Gabriel shoved him away.

The man flashed his winning smile around at the rest of the restaurant. “Just a little disagreement, people. Nothing to be worried about.” He stepped closer and slapped Crowley so hard on the back that his vision went red for a moment. “Just a couple of guys catching up. Right, pal?”

Crowley nodded, wheezing, as if that pal didn’t sound exactly like something someone said right before they stabbed you in an alley. He crumpled down into the chair opposite Aziraphale, who immediately leaned across the table in concern.

“Are you all right, dear?”

Crowley nodded, glancing back over his shoulder as Gabriel strutted off like a peacock, flashing smiles and waving and leaning down for selfies. “Ngh.”

____________________________________

Aziraphale felt quite ill.

He had been looking forward to a pleasant meal with Crowley, to distract him from the revelations about Gabriel’s newfound powers, only for the very man to appear at the restaurant and demand his attention once more.

Superpowers, it seemed, had not mellowed Gabriel’s temperament. Condescending and aggressive, he had demanded the same treatment that Divine had received, an interview spot on his youtube show, the denigration of the Serpent instead of mild approval and, of course, Aziraphale would promote his heroics.

And then for him to turn on Crowley, when Crowley had come to Aziraphle’s rescue…

“Your wrist,” Aziraphale murmured, catching Crowley’s hand and drawing it closer. Reddened indentations of fingerprints were visible from under the edge of his cuff. Aziraphale hissed in sympathy and raised a hand to the waiter. “Some ice, please!”

“S’all right,” Crowley protested half-heartedly, though he didn’t resist when Aziraphale pushed up his sleeve and gently pressed a napkin of crushed ice to the blossoming bruises.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said quietly. “You didn’t know who you were dealing with.”

Crowley’s hand shook against his. “Didn’t need to talk to you like that.” he said hoarsely.

“Mm.” Aziraphale turned Crowley’s hand over to ice the back of his wrist too. He glanced around, relieved to see that Gabriel had finally left the building. “I’m afraid I’ve made a rather alarming discovery about our new friend.”

“Ngh?”

Aziraphale swallowed hard. “You remember when we went to the Serpent’s lair?”

Crowley nodded, staring down at their hands. “Course.”

“I found that gun, do you remember?” Crowley only made a small pained, but inquisitive sound. “I know what it does. Or did.”

Finally, Crowley lifted his face and oh, Aziraphale wished he could see his eyes, to try and read his expression and understand what he was thinking. “Yeah?” His voice sounded hoarse.

Aziraphale’s cheeks grew hot with shame. “I believe it was my fault,” he blurted out. “ _Him_ , I mean. Whatever was in that weapon hit him and turned him into…” He shook his head. “It wasn’t my intent. Or the Serpent’s. Not that. Not _him_.”

Crowley was silent for a long time. “It was the Serpent’s weapon,” he said quietly, drawing his hands free of Aziraphale’s, cradling his bruised wrist with the other hand. “How do you know he didn’t plan that?”

“He wouldn’t,” Aziraphale said with certainty, sitting back. “His plans were… extravagant. Convoluted, even. But he never actively tried to harm anyone. I don’t know why he wanted to give someone Divine’s powers, but–”

“Maybe he wanted them for himself,” Crowley blurted out. “Maybe he had some evil scheme.”

And yet, Aziraphale remembered the so-called villain always honoured his word, never did him any harm aside from a mild headache from the knock-out spray, and even provided refreshments and gift hampers after every kidnapping.

“That’s not his style.”

Crowley snorted, hunching his shoulders. “You don’t know him that well.”

“I know him well enough,” Aziraphale countered. “Do you know how many times he had me abducted?”

“Te– no. Course I don’t.”

“Ten times.” Aziraphale folded his arms on the table. “Ten times, I was in his clutches, and not once – not _once_ – did he harm me. Oh he puffed and declared he would, but it was all part of the performance.”

“Performance?” Crowley’s voice was a croak.

“Oh, he may be a fiend, Aziraphale allowed, “and do all manner of mischief, but he’s not a monster.”

The sound Crowley made was somewhere between a whine and a groan. He rose so suddenly that his chair fell with a crash, and bolted towards the door.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale rose too, startled, and hurried after him.

The man was clearly so upset that he bumped and jostled people aside in his haste to reach the exit and when Aziraphale caught up, he was frantically pulling on the push door, his whole body taut as a line.

“Crowley?” Cautiously approaching, Aziraphale touched his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Do I look all right?” Crowley snarled, whirling around to – possibly? – glare at him. “Why’d’you have to go and say something like that? That I– it’s– that the Serpent’s not as bad as everyone says!” His face twisted in distress and Aziraphale hated that he was the cause. “You shouldn’t think that about him. He’s a villain!”

Aziraphale held up his hands soothingly. “So everyone says, but you and I both know that appearance isn’t everything.” He offered a smile. “I mean, one would say you look like a rebel and a ‘bad boy’, but I know you’re really rather nice.”

Crowley moved in a black blur and Aziraphale gasped in surprise as he was slammed back against the wall beside the door. Not hard, though. Pushed. Not thrown. Crowley must have cushioned the impact, folded his arms in, as much as his face was a rictus of grief and pain. 

“I’m not nice!” he snarled, his hands bunched in Aziraphale’s shirt and shaking as much as their owner. “Nice is a four-letter word and I won’t–” His words sputtered off as Aziraphale covered one of Crowley’s hands with his own. “I–”

“Very well,” Aziraphale said softly, searching his face. “You’re not nice.”

Crowley made that small pained sound again, lips twisting together.

“Crowley…” As if approaching a skittish animal, Aziraphale cautiously lifted his other hand to Crowley’s cheek, brushing his thumb along the other man’s cheekbone. “It’s all right, my dear.”

They were pressed so close together, he could feel the thunder of Crowley’s heartbeat against the back of his arm. Crowley’s lips trembled and he loosened one of his hands, reaching up to his face and – to Aziraphale’s shock and astonishment – removed his dark glasses.

The world seemed to drop away, everything still and quiet and nothing but his eyes.

His painfully familiar solid golden serpent’s eyes.

No. No, that wasn’t possible. That _couldn’t_ be possible.

“You… you’re…”

“Sorry to break up an intimate moment, gentlemen…” A clatter of footsteps and movement close at hand made Crowley’s expression tighten in panic. He recoiled violently, hissing through his teeth, and sent the approaching woman reeling.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale darted after him, but the man threw open the door and fled out into the night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prithee gentles, take a look at [the fantastic drawing that Roo did for me from chapter one](https://wargoddess9.tumblr.com/post/644018127074738176/the-serpent-under-it-chapter-1-fyre) :)

Crowley bolted, shoes clattering on the pavement as he legged it.

Funny, he thought, wheezing to a halt fifty metres down the road. He’d never had to run away before. Or never had the chance to. Not in the shape for it. Years fighting Divine and ended winding himself running away from the one person who’d been kind to him.

He slunk into an alley, sagging to sit on an upturned bin in the shadows.

Not like Aziraphale would come after him. Or speak to him again. Why would he?

“Idiot,” he muttered miserably, rubbing his chest.

“I’ll say.”

Crowley slammed back against the wall with a muffled yelp at the voice from above him. He squinted up, scrambling up and inching towards the opening of the alleyway.

Gabriel West drifted down into the alley, hands outstretched at his side like some kind of Messiah in a suit. Right. Yeah. The flying thing. That was the one thing West could do. The rest of his skills were still a bit on the erratic side. Mostly because he didn’t really give a shit about how much damage he did.

He was smiling that chilly little smile as he landed and Crowley remembered the pilot light of pure white heat building behind the man’s eyes.

Shiiiiiiiiiit. He needed to get to the Bentley. He needed to get the defuser. He needed to _run_ , but his legs were straws and he’d backed himself into the side of a massive dumpster.

“Gabriel West, isn’t it?” His voice cracked as he inched around the side of the dumpster, groping through his pockets for something – anything – copper. His fingers skimmed over a band of metal and his heart leapt. Eric, you little genius. “Saw you on the telly. Big fan.”

“Sure you are, buddy.” Gabriel walked towards him, still smiling. “Interrupting my conversation? Creasing my suit? Ignoring my very polite request to let go?”

“Uh. I… you were upsetting Aziraphale.”

“Oh, I was upsetting Aziraphale?” Gabriel parroted back at him. “What happens between me and Aziraphale is none of your damn business.”

Five steps. Five steps and he’d be around the end of the dumpster and into the street and surely, West wasn’t that much of a bastard that–

“Hrk!”

Hand! Throat! Hand on throat!

Crowley gagged, whipping his hands up to snap the copper bracelet around West’s wrist. The man stared at it, then at him. Crowley stared back, scratching at Gabriel’s fingers, trying to pry them off his throat, his feet kicking uselessly at the man’s legs.

Did it take time to work? It was copper. Should’ve worked right away. Sapped his powers. Why wasn’t it sapping his powers??

“Consider this a warning, _friend_ ,” the man said, catching Crowley’s wrist and twisting it away from the hand at his throat. “Interfere, get in my way or cross me again and there won’t be anything left of you to bother me.”

Crowley gargled something. Words? Nah. Croaky, squeaky sound. Copper didn’t work, Gabriel didn’t know who he was now and… and he didn’t have anyone who could help. He tugged his wrist against Gabriel’s hand.

Light flickered around him. The hand gripped in Gabriel’s was black. Scaled. Normal.

SHIT!

West dropped him like he was burning and Crowley staggered, legs shaking, wheezing.

“The Serpent!” Gabriel gasped. “ _You_ are the Serpent?” His eyes widened in shock. “You’re in cahoots with Fell!”

Shit shit shit shit shit…

“Ha!” Crowley croaked. “In cahoots with that idiot?” He straightened up, even though every muscle in his body felt like it was quivering. “Everyone knows he’s the hero expert in town.” He laughed, though it burned through his bruised throat. “Kept his interest off you, didn’t I?”

Thank Someone for the weeks he’d spent slogging through the insufferable prick’s training. West had a tell. Several. And right now, the twitch of his eyebrow meant he was _angry_ and when he got angry he got sloppy and stupid and aggressive and Crowley slapped his hand to his watch just in time, as Gabriel’s fist scoured through the air towards his face.

The time-out bubble whipped up around him in the nick of time and he saw the confusion and rage war on Gabriel’s face a split-second before his fist hit the surface.

Crowley’s breath was driven out of his lungs as the inflatable ball went hurtling into the air pinballing off and between buildings, ricocheting down streets. He splayed his limbs out uselessly, bouncing every which way, thanking Someone again for the fact that Eric had fixed it and it hadn’t exploded and he wasn’t just spatters of mush on a wall.

Took a long while – and bouncing over several cars and people and rolling down a hill that never seemed to end – before he finally juddered to a stop, parked halfway into the ditch off the side of the road.

Panting, Crowley slapped at his watch until the bubble deflated around him and he clawed his way free, limbs a mess of limp noodles. On the grassy verge, he sprawled and panted, aching in his… well… everywhere, if he was honest. He fumbled with the dial of his watch feebly, switching to another of Eric’s custom appearances. Wouldn’t do for some random to see their evil overlord lying in a ditch.

Okay.

So Gabriel knew who ‘Anthony Crowley’ was now. Technically, it wasn’t rocket science. If anyone had bothered to look at his prison records, his name was listed as “ ~~Crawly~~ Crowley” but no one looked, so no one gave it a second thought.

But yeah. No. Now Gabriel knew and would probably be on his way to crow about to–

“Shit!” Crowley croaked, groping for his phone. His hands were still shaking but he managed to unlock it and dial the bookshop, because of course Aziraphale didn’t have a bloody mobile phone. Why would he, he always said, when his landline was troublesome enough? “Come on. Pick up. Y’must be back by now. Musn’t–”

“Good evening, A.Z. Fell’s Book Empor–”

“Newt!” Crowley almost sobbed with relief. “Thank someone! Newt, is Aziraphale there?”

“Mr. Crowley?” Newt sounded puzzled. “No, he was meant to be meeting you for dinner.”

Right. Yes. Of course he was.

“Ngh.” He scrabbled for some – any – excuse. “Right. So something came up. I need to talk to him. I thought he’d be back by now.”

“No.” Newt’s frown was palpable. “Is something wrong?”

Crowley rubbed anxiously at his forehead, the scales rough against his fingertips. “Look, Gabriel West is looking for him and–”

“Oh no!”

“Yes! Oh no is right!” Crowley staggered to his feet. “I need to find Aziraphale. We need to… do something.” He squinted around the twilit streets, the glow around the lampposts hazy and blurred. “If West comes to the shop, can you stall him? Take him and do an interview or some’hing? Just don’t let him near Aziraphale.”

“Yes! Of course!” There was a moment of silent. “Mr. Crowley, are you safe?”

Crowley stared down at the deflated bubble in the ditch. “For now, yeah, but I think it’s better if I lie low. I’ll try and find Aziraphale.” A jangle of the shop bell on the other end of the line made his heart stutter. “Is that–”

“Hello Mr. West!” Newt exclaimed loudly. “How nice to see you. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

“Shit!” Crowley squeaked.

“Hello again, sir. I’m afraid we don’t have that copy, but I’ll take care of it for you,” Newt said, then hung up the phone.

Right. Okay. Priorities shifting. Find Aziraphale, keep him away from the shop and Gabriel. Keep him _safe_.

He had the app-y thing on his telephone – oh Someone, he owed Eric a better job and a raise – and called for a car to take him back to the restaurant. No chance in hell that he could walk it, not bounced and bruised as he was. Mercifully, it wasn’t Shadwell, who probably – maybe – would have noticed that his passengers were different shapes.

Trouble was that Aziraphale had left the restaurant. Gone. Vamoosed. Disappeared off into the evening.

“Hsst!” Crowley flapped a hand at the woman who had barged in on them earlier. Not that she’d recognise him.

“Can I help you?”

“My friend was meant to be meeting me here,” he only sort of lied. “Aziraphale Fell. He had a table booked. White fluffy hair like a cloud. Bowtie.”

“Oh yes!” The woman beamed at him. “He was here. Had a bit of a lover’s tiff with his partner, I’m afraid, but he headed off a little while ago.”

Crowley tried not to grab her and shake her. Manners. That was a thing with humans. “Did you see which way he headed?”

She waved a vague hand. “Off towards the park, I think.”

The park.

Crowley’s heart squished in his chest. Of course he’d go to the park. He loved the park.

Throwing some kind of gratitude words over his shoulder, he staggered out into the street, whirling around to get his bearings. Right. Okay. He just needed to find his car and drive down and find Aziraphale before someone worse did.

His car was…

Crowley’s heart sank.

He’d left it by the…

Shit.

Someone’s sake! He’d left it by shops with memorable names! But had he bothered to remember the names? Of course he bloody hadn’t.

Pointing himself in what he hoped was the right direction, he ran.

_______________________________________

The place was deserted, a small mercy that Aziraphale could not have been more thankful for.

He had frozen in the restaurant, reeling from Crowley’s revelation, and by the time he gathered himself and rushed out into the street, Crowley was long gone. No. Not Crowley. The Serpent. For weeks now, the Serpent had been coming to his shop, keeping him company, laughing and teasing and _lying_ to his face.

How he had gone from there to the park, he couldn’t be sure, but the dark and the quiet felt comforting after the noise and bustle of the restaurant, the only light the golden pools of the lamps illuminated the path, their reflections shimmering in the surface of the pond.

He walked numbly on until he found a bench and sat, staring at the ripples on the pond.

Crowley was the Serpent.

Crowley, the man who fumblingly tried to cook and haltingly smiled and had been so shy and hesitant and cautious. Who had been baffled by the concept of infrastructure and business but listened attentively and learned and…

And Aziraphale’s cobbled-together theories fell apart.

Someone raised in care, possibly not schooled as well as he could have been, that was what he had assumed. Crowley had only mentioned his parents had passed away when he was young and had always deftly changed the topic when his past was brought up. He was obviously intelligent and bright, but his knowledge of simple life skills were non-existent.

But of course he had known nothing.

Everyone knew the Serpent’s story: born and raised a criminal, never anything more than a fiend and a villain, and certainly not the kind of person one would sit and talk to or laugh with or buy ice cream for when he admitted he had never had any.

Raised not in care, but in prison.

“I don’t understand,” Aziraphale said softly. “Why would he do that? What could he possibly hope to achieve?”

His first instinct was to as malice, the Serpent amusing himself at Aziraphale’s expense, but why would he have willingly and enthusiastically joined in the clean-up of Tadfield? Why would he have chosen to spend time working for the improvement of the town?

And the changes that had happened…

Was it possible Crowley had come to him for advice? To find out what he needed to do? Aziraphale very nearly laughed at the thought. How very like a medieval king, wandering among the vassals. Only the Serpent _had_ made changes. Quite drastic ones as well. So much so that people were clamouring to work for him.

There was no sense to be had in it, none at all.

Aziraphale sighed, staring out at the pond.

Whether he had done it for bad or for good hardly mattered when he had lied.

He had no idea how long he sat there, staring sightlessly out over the pond. It was a mild night, calm and still, which made the sudden burst of noise from the path all the more startling. Someone was… well… you could loosely call it running. Flailing seemed more adequate. A tall, skinny woman in an exceedingly short dress, breathing hard, and racing straight towards Aziraphale as if hell itself were after her.

Aziraphale rose, alarmed. “Madame, are you all right?”

“’Ziraphale!” the woman gasped out, almost folding over the back of the bench and panting. “Found you.”

He stared at her, bewildered. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”

“Ngh! Right!” Even as the woman batted at her watch, Aziraphale recognised that voice, those sounds.

“Crowley?”

Light fizzled around her and melted away. Not Crowley. The Serpent. Giving him a small, guarded and wary smile that was painfully familiar. No spikes. No flash. Just a plain black bodysuit and nervously fidgeting scaled hands.

“Um,” he said.

Aziraphale stared at him, too tired and flummoxed to give into the well-spring of anger about all the lies. “What do you want?” he demanded waspishly. “Why on earth do you think I would want to see you?”

“Right, yeah, no, I know,” the Serpent said, urgently holding up his hands. “Didn’t plan on it. Wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important, but we’re fucked.”

“Says the supervillain,” Aziraphale snapped back.

The Serpent winced. “Fair,” he agreed, “but I think we can both agree there’s someone worse on the loose and I think we’re the only ones who can figure out how to stop him.”

It didn’t take a genius to work out what – who – he was talking about.

“Gabriel.”

The Serpent nodded, glancing back over his shoulder as if he half-expected the man to appear. “Look, something’s wrong. About him. About the power.”

Despite himself, Aziraphale unfolded his arms. “What do you mean?”

Swinging himself over the back of the bench, the Serpent sagged to sit, still breathing hard. Had he run all the way from the restaurant? Or had something else happened?

“Copper.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Copper,” the Serpent repeated. “With Divine. She said–”

“Copper drains her powers,” Aziraphale said at once. Her final words. Words that had played over and over in his head for weeks.

The Serpent nodded urgently. “He’s got all her powers. Copper should work. Didn’t.”

Didn’t.

Did that mean…

Aziraphale stepped a little closer, squinting at him in the half-light from the distant lamps. The Serpent shrank back on the bench and the light caught the exposed pale skin of his throat, highlighting bruises in the shape of fingers. And he had been wobbling all over the place when he’d run down from the path, as if knocked off balance.

Aziraphale reached out, catching his chin gently. The Serpent flinched as if expecting a blow, but Aziraphale only turned his face towards the light. His scales across his brow and cheeks were cracked in places, his lip split and one eye puffy and swollen.

“What did he do?”

The Serpent hesitated, then cautiously caught Aziraphale’s wrist, clinging to it. “Not to me. Well, not me-me. He thought I was still– I mean, I looked like– you know.”

Aziraphale’s world washed red for a moment. Gabriel had seen the man who defended him in the restaurant and gone after him? Never mind that it was really the Serpent under it. Gabriel assumed it was an average human being and he had–

“S’mostly my own fault,” the Serpent continued. “Tried to use the copper on him. Pissed him right off. He knocked off my disguise. Panicked a bit. Pretty sure he would’ve knocked my head off as well. Managed to get away, but got banged about on exit.” He laughed shakily. “Eric’s hamster bubble defence worked. Who’d’ve thought?”

Slowly, Aziraphale sank down to sit on the bench, staring at him.

The Serpent squirmed self-consciously under his stare. “Ngh. So. Yeah. The copper. Didn’t work. Should’ve worked. Didn’t. Don’t know why. Can’t stop him. Don’t know how to stop him if that doesn’t work.”

“He almost killed you.”

The Serpent shuddered convulsively. “M’fine. Bit bruised. Been worse. Had worse. Lots worse.”

The horrifying part, Aziraphale realised, was that it was probably true.

“And you came to me,” he said softly.

Long bony fingers twisted together, one hand thumbing the scales of the other. “He was coming to find you,” he mumbled. “Gabriel. He wanted to… to tell you about me. Use it. Told him I was playing you. Keeping your attention off him. Thinks he can get you to do a piece on him now.”

 _Pissed him right off_.

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale breathed. “You’re protecting me?”

“Ngh,” The Serpent hunched into a ball, shoulders up around his ears. “Need your help. Big brain. Know things.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale watched him. “You said. Copper.”

“N’Divine.” Golden eyes darted towards him then away. “Y’knew her. Better than most. Did she ever say anything?”

He shook his head. “Not about this. Not about her weaknesses.”

Crowl– The Serpent pulled his feet up onto the bench, wincing, and folded his arms around his legs, staring down at the grass. “Only thing I can think of is the defuser. Take all the Divine bits out of him. But can’t find it.”

“You _lost_ the only means to stop him?”

The Serpent shot a glower at him. “I’d just been punched fifty feet in the air and bounced for miles. You try and remember where you parked your sodding invisible car after that!” He blinked as if it he’d said too much and hunched down again.

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale clapped a hand to his mouth, the words having escaped while he was distracted. He ought to still be angry, but seeing the bedraggled and battered man in front of him, the anger was waning. He peeled his fingers from his mouth and asked cautiously. “Why?”

Golden eyes squinted at him in confusion.

“Why did you come to me?” he clarified. “Before. At the shop. Looking… acting… well, when you pretended to be Crowley?”

“I _am_ Crowley,” the Serpent said indignantly. “S’not my fault no one ever asked me my name.” He hunched down again, the red tuft of his hair a sharp contrast against the gleaming black of his body suit. “Anyway, you said to me to come by. No one ever did that.”

“You could have _told_ me.”

The Serpent gave him a look that said it all. “Oh yeah. Serpent shows up at your shop, all scaly and villainous. Bet you would really have sat down and had a nice chat with me.” He unfolded to his feet, stretching his long neck and wincing. “I’m sorry about that, all right? Never been invited anywhere before. It was… different.”

“Oh.”

“Mm.” He rubbed the back of his hand again and toed at the ground. “Look, you don’t like me, s’fine. But this isn’t about me. If you know anything about Divine or how to stop him…”

Aziraphale had to look away from him to think about it. He didn’t need to think about the man behind Crowley alone and never invited anywhere, isolated and unused to socialising and so curious and eager for companionship that he had approached someone he knew would deplore him.

“She was very private,” he finally said. “Even in the interviews she allowed me, she didn’t give much away about where she came from or who she really was.” He drew his thumb along his lip thoughtfully, frowning. “She mentioned something called ‘the manor’ once, but Newt and I couldn’t find any specific reference to it.”

“The manor,” the Serpent echoed. “Not Tadfield manor?”

Aziraphale frowned, shaking his head. “As far as we’re aware, that’s been a convent for years.”

Golden eyes met his. “How _many_ years?”

_____________________________

The car sputtered along on the road out of town, occasionally lit by the rare street lamps, and Crowley self-consciously fidgeted with the ostentatious robes that looked like they were taking over half of the back seat.

“And he was the colleague you were complaining about…” Aziraphale said a look of dawning realisation on his face.

They were on the way to Tadfield Manor, but without Eric or the Bentley, the only option had been to call in someone who wouldn’t ask questions. Shadwell creased down his fuzzy eyebrows and glowered in the mirror as if they’d offended him, but thankfully, didn’t say anything.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, had a thousand and one questions, most of which had centred on Crowley’s current disguise and led to an awkward explanation of what had happened. Specifically and embarrassingly about his attempts to turn Gabriel West into a good guy.

“He’s a wanker,” Crowley confirmed, mortified to be back in the disguise he’d used to try – and failed – to train Gabriel West. “I mean, I thought I could try and make the best of a bugger of a situation, but then he was powered up and I couldn’t stop it and–”

“And I accidentally helped you make the worst person even more impossible.”

“Ngh.” Crowley glanced sidelong at him. “You couldn’t’ve known.” He slouched a little further down in the seat, rubbing gingerly at his aching ribs. From the feel of it, he’d probably turned a plum-shade of purple.

“You were planning to use it, though,” the man beside him murmured. “The… gadget?”

Crowley grunted, picking at a sequin.

“Who… I mean, had you picked a likely subject?”

“Nope.” Crowley tugged at the sequin. “Hadn’t even thought about it. Just finished it when you showed up.”

“I’d hope…” Aziraphale hesitated and a sidelong glance let Crowley see how the man was twisting his hands together. Anxious. That was one of his signs. “Look, you can’t just go around forcing superhero powers onto people. You’d have to get permission. Otherwise it’s… it’s not right.”

Under the chameleon mask, Crowley flushed. “I hadn’t thought about it! Can’t lecture me when I hadn’t done it!”

“Lecture you?? I’m _not_ –” The man held up his hands. “Never mind that now. What we have to decide is how to deal with our mutual friend. When you ran into him last time, you seem to have got away quite cleanly.”

“Mm.” Crowley tapped at his watch. “Had the defence bubble thingie.”

“Ah!” Aziraphale’s expression brightened. “Perhaps we could use that again? It seems to have worked quite well this time.”

All at once, Crowley remembered ricocheting off the sides as the ball bounced and tumbled. “Nope.”

“Don’t be difficult, you fiend!”

Crowley gave him a look. “Last time, I was right in front of him and that’s the only reason it worked. F’I tried it again, don’t think he’d make the same mistake twice. He’s an idiot, but he’s not completely stupid.” At Aziraphale’s crestfallen look, he sighed. “It’s fine for brief and close contact. But if he did the eyes or he came at me from a distance or high speed, it’d burst.”

“Oh good heavens! With you too?”

That made Crowley grin. “Nah. We sorted out that glitch. It just… sort of pops and deflates like a sad balloon.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale frowned down at his hands. “Well. That’s a problem.”

“Mm.”

The car continued to rattle its way out of the city, winding up into the small hills that flanked it to the south. Not exactly imposing, they were more scenic than anything, and it didn’t take long for them to rumble through the gates of the manor, the long straight driveway flanked on either side by tall, overgrown trees. A couple of windows were illuminated, but most of the building seemed to be dark.

“Dinnae trust a bunch of wimmin cloistering themselves away,” Shadwell grumbled, as he drew up outside the front door. “They’re up to something.”

Aziraphale shot Crowley a bemused look. “They’re _nuns_ , Mr…”

“Shadwell,” Shadwell grunted, eyeing Aziraphale. “Dinnae ken what a southern pansy’d know about the evil wiles of wimmin.”

“Oi!” Crowley shoved the back of his seat. “You can’t say that, especially not to him.”

“I’ve had far worse,” Aziraphale said, offering a hand and then staring at it as if it had done so without his permission.

Still, he didn’t pull it back, so Crowley grabbed it to lever himself out of the car. “Doesn’t matter if you’ve had worse,” he said. “Still shouldn’t call anyone that.” He leaned down to glare in at Shadwell. “You’re getting no stars.”

Shadwell made a gesture that Crowley suspected was quite rude. “Away and chase yerself, ye frilly nancy,” he growled, then floored the accelerator and skidded off across the gravel.

Once he was out of sight, Crowley deactivated the disguise, peering around. “Seems a bit quiet, doesn’t it?” No one peering out of windows or coming out to greet them. Everything looked a bit run down and neglected as well.

“Let’s have a look inside, shall we?” Aziraphale motioned to the door. “After you.”

Crowley’s mouth twitched helplessly. “Oh yeah. Bet the nuns’ll love seeing a supervillain walking through their front door.”

Aziraphale made a face that suggested he wanted to laugh, but was trying very hard not to. “Oh, don’t overestimate yourself, dear boy. You hardly merit the villain now, let alone the super.”

“Oi!”

This time, the bloody angel did laugh as he pushed open the doors and strode into the hall.

Inside, the place was just as deserted as the grounds, but a lamp was illuminated on the wall and there were posters up, advertising–

“Paintball?”

Crowley peered at them. “Yeah. You know when people shoot paint at each other?”

Aziraphale shot an exasperated glare at him. “I know what paintball is. What I don’t understand is why there are posters about it here.” He approached a table by the wall, frowning. “And pamphlets about it. Combat initiative training… how odd. They seem to be turning this place into some kind of messy sporting retreat.”

Crowley peered around. “S’weird. Wonder where the nuns went.”

“Maybe they grew tired of a life of prayer and solitude,” Aziraphale suggested.

“And took up paintball?” Crowley wandered towards the nearest doorway. “Hello? Anyone about?”

“Crowley!”

Crowley glanced back with a crooked smile. “S’my name.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed. “Well. Yes. I suppose I _should_ keep calling you that, really. Seems silly not to.”

Daft how nice it was to hear that. Crowley swung around and continued on his way, into a massive moonlit room with lots of tents made out of sheets. He peeked under one, sputtering at the dust that spilled off it. “S’a couch,” he informed Aziraphale.

“Curious.” Aziraphale held up a hand. “Listen.”

Crowley straightened up. “Music?”

The man nodded, striding to the far side of the room and pushing another door open. He paused, beckoning Crowley, who scuttled to catch up with him. Together, they peered through into the next room. This one had no sheet-tent-things. It was clean and bright and music was playing somewhere nearby.

“He–”

Aziraphale clamped a hand over Crowley’s mouth. “We don’t want to surprise them and have them thinking we just broke in.”

“Ut ee id,” Crowley protested against his palm.

“Shush!” Aziraphale let him go and gingerly pushed the door open. He slipped through, peering around, then sighed with relief. “No one.”

“Bit of an anti-climax, eh?” Crowley wandered in behind him, looking around. The room looked fancy, nice furniture, but all the furniture from all sorts of rooms. There was even a bed at the far end. And then there were the family portraits on the walls. He paused in front of one of them, squinting at the solitary child in the middle. “Huh. Nice for some.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed excitedly. “Come and look.”

A couch and a low table stood between Crowley and the man, so he swung over the back of one and walked over the top of the other to reach Aziraphale’s side. “What?”

“Look!” Aziraphale jabbed his finger at a glass on the bigger table. “There’s ice in it!”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed, nonplussed. “It’s what happens when water gets cold.”

“No! Think about it! It means someone was here very recently and–”

A creak made them both look towards the far end of the room and the door that had just opened.

Crowley reached out and blindly smacked Aziraphale on the arm. “Oi. Angel?”

“I see her too,” Aziraphale said in a strange tone of voice.

In the doorway at the far end of the room, Divine stared back at them. “Ah.”

A miracle, Crowley thought dizzily. Bloody great miracle. Just how they needed! Someone who could stop Gabriel and there she was! Divine! Back from the… wait, back from the dead. How could she be back from the dead and–

“What the _hell_ is going on?” Aziraphale snarled.

“Aziraphale! My friend!” Divine swept into the room with all her usual panache. Only in a dressing gown. And fluffy slippers. And, Crowley knew her well enough to spot it, a big old flash of panic. “I didn’t expect to see you!”

“I imagine not.” Aziraphale’s voice was colder and flatter than Crowley had ever heard it. “What with you having been _murdered in front of me_.”

“He has a point,” Crowley put in helpfully. “I mean, you were very dead.”

“Ahahahaha…” Divine self-consciously fiddled with the front of her dressing gown. “Yes. So. About that…” She approached, though Crowley couldn’t help notice she was keeping her eyes on Aziraphale, rather than him. Bit cheeky, all things considered. “Thing is…” She sighed. “Thing is I just wanted out of it.”

“Out of it.” Aziraphale echoed.

“Out of heroing. Out of… everything.” She dragged out one of the chairs at the other side of the table and gestured for them to do the same.

Crowley was halfway into his seat when he noticed that Aziraphale was still standing ramrod straight. “Oi. Angel.”

“Go on.” Aziraphale didn’t even look at him.

Divine held up a hand. “Aziraphale…”

“Go. On.”

Her pale eyes flicked briefly to Crowley. “Look, you don’t know what it’s like, everyone demanding your attention, expecting you, waiting for you to save them!” She didn’t even sound like herself anymore. She sounded… tired. That definitely wasn’t the Divine Crowley remembered. “We were running in circles, the Serpent and I, and I just… it felt meaningless.”

“Scuse you!” Crowley exclaimed, then jumped when a broad hand closed on his shoulder. He looked up, startled, to find Aziraphale standing over him.

“Go on,” Aziraphale said in that same flat voice.

Divine propped her elbow on the arm of her chair and rubbed her brow. “What do you want me to say, Aziraphale?” she demanded. “Do you want me to defend my decision? Fine! I decided to quit being a hero because I was tired of it. I was sick of it. I wanted to do something else. Something with no expectations or people hounding me day and night. And so I nipped out during the explosion, nabbed a skeleton from the medical school and…” She shrugged. “Well, now I don’t have to see anyone getting hurt on my watch.”

“Ohhhh.” Crowley nodded. “The paintballing.”

“Yes.” She offered him a small, tight smile. “Paintballing. People doing what people do, but without any need for me to show up and save them. No casualties.”

“I see.” Frost crusted Aziraphale’s voice. “So you faked your own death – brutally and right in front of us – and abandoned us in this idiot’s clutches?” He patted Crowley’s shoulder. “No offence.”

“No, I’m right there with you,” Crowley agreed. “You left _me_ in charge! People thought I’d _killed_ you! I never killed anyone!”

“And I’m sorry about that, but I’m _tired_ , Aziraphale. I’m… I never wanted to be a hero.”

Crowley stared down at the table top. Oh. A role that she’d slipped into, and a role he’d tripped into from another direction. “I need a hero, though,” he said in a small voice. “I don’t have anyone–”

“No.” Aziraphale’s tone softened, his hand warm and firm on Crowley’s shoulder. “She made this mess. Gabriel is out there, with your powers, because you jumped ship and left this one with a void to fill. We can’t stop him. You have to come back. You have to fix this.”

Crowley stared across at her imploringly. “You can’t just leave it to us. You know how useless I am. You beat me every time.”

Divine gazed at him across the table. “You’re not useless. Never have been.” Her gaze slid up to Aziraphale, “And I _am_ sorry, but I’m not coming back. Not now. Not ever.”

World got a bit swishy, then. Maybe inside his head. Maybe out. They’d done what they came to do. Find some way to stop Gabriel. And they had. Found some way. But some way had said no, go away. And they couldn’t and now, it was all his fault and they were going–

“Crowley?”

He blinked, looking around.

They were outside again, Aziraphale’s hand tucked under his arm. Had they walked? Didn’t know. Brain all over the place.

“Ah.” Aziraphale tried to smile. “There you are. You seemed to be off in a daze for a moment, there.”

“Ngh.”

The man gently squeezed his elbow. “We can deal with this. Never mind her. We can do something about this on our own.”

“Mph.” Crowley stared at him. Trusting him to put things right. Him. A villain. Putting things right. Only thing he could do was stop Gabriel from needing to use his powers. Best way. Villain safely locked away. No threat. No reason. “I need to go home.”

“To your lair?”

Crowley shook his head. Walls and bars and somewhere that he wouldn’t muck everything up for everyone again. “Home,” he said quietly. “St. Beryls.”

Aziraphale’s hand dropped away from his arm. “You’re giving up? But you – we can fix this!”

“S’safer,” he mumbled. “For you. For everyone. No villain to fight. He’ll be happy just showing off. Won’t hurt anyone.”

“But you _can’t_.”

Crowley looked at him. “Have to.”

“Crowley.”

He shook his head, drawing back. “M’the Serpent. Always has been.”

____________________________________

It had turned into quite the night.

Aziraphale gazed sightlessly out of the window of the car as it shuttled him back through the streets of Tadfield. A different driver had come to pick them up from the manor, but in the time it took for the car to arrive, he and Crowley had argued and fought and in the end, Crowley had won out.

So, on the way back to the city, Aziraphale had watched him – disguised as Anthony once more – get out of the car and walk to the gates of St Beryls. He didn’t see them take him in, but Crowley assured him that they would. They would have his cell waiting, as always.

So Crowley had locked himself up and Divine had taken herself out of the picture and now… what?

“Here we are,” the driver said, pulling in outside the shop.

Aziraphale nodded gratefully and climbed out the car, surprised to see the lights were still on in the bookshop. While they did occasionally stay open later on certain evenings, it was far, far too late by far for Newt to still be working.

He pushed open the door, the bell jangling overhead. “Newt?”

A clatter from the far side of the shop made him turn and he saw Newt’s chalk-white face a split-second before Gabriel stepped between them, clad in his ridiculous superhero costume.

“Ah! Aziraphale!” The man spread his terrifyingly beefy arms. “About time. Your little buddy was just getting us warmed up for the interview.”

“Interview?” Aziraphale echoed.

Newt inched cautiously around the man. “Since you were busy with your friend, I thought we’d do prep.” The tremor in his voice was barely noticeable, but they had been working together for years, and Newt knew what was happening and had kept Gabriel here, despite clearly being terrified.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, staring up at Gabriel. Had he always been so much taller? It seemed impossible to remember now. “You can run along now, dear boy.”

“I should sta–”

“I insist,” Aziraphale said firmly. No one else needed to be in the crossfire. He crossed the floor, gently catching Newt’s arms. “You get back to Anathema. She’ll be worried sick, you staying out this late.”

“Aziraphale,” Newt tried to say something.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Without preamble, Aziraphale bundled him out the door and lifting his bag and coat from the hook beside it, all but throwing them out after him. He shut the door over, turning the latch in the lock. “So.” He turned with a tight smile. “Gabriel. I’m dreadfully sorry, but there seems to have been some miscommunication.”

“You got that right!” Gabriel boomed, laughing. “Here I thought you were holding out on me.”

How fast could one’s heart beat before it gave out, Aziraphale wondered. His was certainly giving a high-speed percussionist a run for their money. He straightened his back and folded his hands before him. “No. What I mean is that there will not be an interview.”

Somehow, Gabriel seemed to get even bigger, moving closer and looming over him. “Oh there will be, buddy.”

Aziraphale darted out his tongue to wet bone-dry lips. “No, I don’t think there can be. My channel is– well, it tends to focus on heroes and heroic actions. From all I’ve seen, you fall into neither category.”

Gabriel’s violet eyes flashed alarmingly bright. “Look at me,” he snarled and oh Lord, he was hovering inches above the floor. “Do I not look heroic to you?”

“You look like you’re wearing a costume.”

Gabriel lunged and the breath was driven out of Aziraphale’s body as the man lifting him, pinning him up against one of the shelf-ends, his feet kicking out uselessly. “Does this feel like someone wearing a costume?” Gabriel snarled, eyes diamond-bright.

“Not the point!” Aziraphale gasped. “You’re acting like a bully! Like a villain.”

“Oh, _I’m_ the villain?” Gabriel laughed darkly. “Well, I can do that.”

“Wh–”

A blur of motion hit him and the world went black.


	7. Chapter 7

Pushing with one foot, Crowley slowly revolved, staring blankly as the walls as he went.

Nothing had changed in the cell.

The plants were still verdant and green, a bit taller in some places, but otherwise unchanged. The bedsheets were fresher and the spinny chair had a little bit of a squeak when he sat in it, but it really felt as if he’d never left.

Trouble was…

Trouble was that everything had changed.

Michael had been the one to meet him at the door the night before as he shed his disguise and his watch. The warden had escorted him back to his cell personally, watching him suspiciously, as if he expected some kind of trap to spring.

“What are you doing here, Serpent?” he’d asked.

Crowley couldn’t remember what he’d said. Probably something witty and acerbic. He didn’t know anymore.

Squeak squeak squeak went the chair.

“Breaking news!”

He hunkered down in the chair with a hiss. He’d been watching a nature documentary with Attenborough being his usual calming self about animals doing animal things. Last thing Crowley wanted to deal with was anything from the outside.

Muted screams from the television almost made him turn, but he wrapped his arms around his knees and stared mutinously at the wall. He couldn’t go back out there and make things worse for everyone, not when–

“Give me that damn mike.”

Crowley went rigid. That voice. That _bastard_. He spun the chair to see Gabriel in his Archangel outfit, in intensive close-up.

“So here’s the thing,” Gabriel said, “There’s a villain in this town and I’m gonna take care of him.” He flashed a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You hear me, Serpent? You and me. Head to head. This is your town, after all. I’d hate for something to… happen to it.”

Under Crowley’s horrified stare, the man spun and sent a beam of light from his eyes, slicing into the nearest building.

“Shit,” he breathed, scrambling up. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” He ran to the door, pounding on it. “Michael! Someone’s sake! Michael!”

“And just in case you need a little bit more incentive,” West continued, “how about this buddy of yours?”

Crowley’s stomach dropped and he pivoted back to the screen. The camera tilted to focus on a small figure lashed to the flagpole on the top of the town hall. Small, but pale-haired.

“No… no no no…” Crowley staggered back to the screen as Gabriel snatched the camera from his companion and soared up. The tiny blotch of a figure materialised into Aziraphale, strapped to the flagpole with twisted metal bars. He lifted his head defiantly, despite the bonds and the gag around his mouth, but there was a vicious bruise spreading all down one side of his face and blood on his shirt. “Angel…”

“You see, Serpent?” Gabriel turned the camera around to face him. “I don’t believe you were fooling him. He knew all about you which makes him as much a criminal as you.” His smile dropped away like someone had flicked a switch. “And unless you show up here in half an hour…” He swooped down to Aziraphale and caught his chin in his hand, squeezing. “He’s gonna shut his stupid mouth and die already.”

“Fuck!” Crowley bolted back to the door, hammering on it. “Michael! Michael, let me out! Let me out of here!”

The warden’s face appeared on the other side of the glass. “And why on earth would I do that?”

“You have to let me go!” Crowley smacked his hand futilely against the door. “I need to stop Gabriel!”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “When you still have all those life sentences to go? Plenty of time to reflect on what you’ve done.”

“You want me to apologise? Fine! I’m sorry! Whatever I said, whatever I did, I didn’t mean it!” He threw himself against the door, pressing his face to the glass and staring through.

The warden snorted. “Not buying it.”

Crowley sagged back, heart sinking. “Yeah… s’pose I asked for that. Terrorising the city. Taking over and everything. Making that bastard into something even worse.” He slumped against the door. “And I buggered everything up. Put Aziraphale in danger. And… and my best mate… he told me not to. All the stupid things I’ve done, he tried to stop me and now, I can’t even apologise to him.” He peered back out through the window in the door. “I’m asking nicely. I need to make things right.”

To his astonishment, the door slid open.

“Eh?”

The warden touched a – hey wait! – very familiar watch, light blazing around him.

“Apology accepted,” Eric said, beaming at him.

Crowley laughed shakily. “Eric… you brilliant bugger.”

Eric wriggled happily. “Come on then! Not really a break-out if you don’t leave with me.”

Crowley flung his arm around his minion’s shoulder. “Yes! We’ve got a party to crash.” He blinked in surprise as they emerged from the cell and found the warden and the guards all tied up and bundled in heaps along the wall. “How did you–”

Eric snapped his fingers and a dozen of the shrubberies poured in, wearing matching grins. “Got them well trained.”

In lieu of some appropriately sincere gesture of affection, Crowley settled for lightly headbutting the side of Eric’s head. “Fantastic!” He stepped over the warden’s legs, giving the exasperated Michael an apologetic little wave.

“Good luck, Serpent,” the warden called after him.

Crowley laughed again, shrill and not a little panicked. “We’re gonna die!” he called back, voice drifting through the halls.

_______________________________________________

“Gotta say this is disappointing, buddy.”

Aziraphale didn’t even dignify Gabriel with a glare. Not that he really could, what with the bars wrapped around him like rope. Gabriel was somewhere overhead and from the vibrations running down the flagpole, he was leaning against it.

“Bet you wish you’d picked the winning side.”

Despite himself, Aziraphale made a stifled sound.

Of course, Gabriel heard, sweeping back down to hover in front of him. He peeled the gag away from Aziraphale’s mouth. “You got something to say?”

Wincing, Aziraphale flexed his aching jaw, his mouth dry as a bone. “What makes you think,” he asked hoarsely, “that you are the winning side?”

Gabriel threw his arms wide. “Look at me!” He spun in the air, looking every bit the hero. Except perhaps for the corporate sponsorship plastered all over his costume. “You need a brand to get recognition and I’ve got it in spades.” He waved down to the throng below. “Those guys are here for _me_.”

Some of them, perhaps, Aziraphale thought grimly. But even from such a distance, he could see people trying to break through the blockades of Gabriel’s associates.

“You don’t _have_ to do it this way,” he said. “You’ve got all this power. You could use it to _help_ people.”

“And I’m gonna,” Gabriel agreed. “Subject to contract.”

“But that–” Aziraphale shook his head in disgust. “That’s not helping people! That’s… that’s wrong! Helping is something you do without considering the benefits to yourself! You can’t be a hero if you’re all about the line at the bottom!”

Gabriel squinted at him. “You mean the bottom line?”

“Yes! A hero can’t be motivated by money! They have to be motivated by the desire to do _good_!”

Rolling his eyes, Gabriel flapped his hand in a talking gesture. “Blah, blah, blah. Good, right, honour, dignity. We get it. You’re so wonderful. Doesn’t change the fact you were cosying up to that snaky son of a bitch.”

“That snaky son of a bitch,” Aziraphale spat, “has done more for this town with his bare hands than you have done with all these powers.”

Gabriel lunged down, one hand snagging the pole above Aziraphale’s head and squeezing. Metal creaked and screamed and the upper half of the flagpole tumbled away, clattering and banging its way down the dome. Aziraphale took a shaking breath, but forced himself not to blink.

“I’m going to enjoy dealing with you once I finish with him,” Gabriel growled. “And then you’ll see exactly what Archangel is capable of.”

Behind him, black clouds were billowing. Unnaturally billowing at that. Like they were being churned up by…

Crowley!

Bebop music suddenly boomed out in the air, dozens of flying bots with speakers swirling up around the dome. Drumbeats and handclaps and a roar went up from the crowd below. Gabriel whirled around as the vocals came in – something about buddy boys and big noise. And there, in the heart of the cloud, an expanding silhouette of a serpent.

“Who dares challenge the Serpent?”

The silhouette bloomed up into a dazzling bright illuminated cobra, poised to strike.

“I’m the hero of this town!” Gabriel bellowed.

“Yeah right!” Crowley’s voice boomed back all around them and Aziraphale very nearly hooted in triumph. “Can’t just slap on some tights and call yourself a hero, mate! If you want to be a hero”– The cobra’s mouth gaped wide and there he was! Crowley! In his ridiculous glorious serpent-wrapped black outfit and cape, grinning that roguish grin–“Do it with _style_!”

Aziraphale burst out laughing in relief and delight, made all the sweeter for the baffled look of confused fury on Gabriel’s face.

“You son of a–” Gabriel burst forward with a snarl, shooting like a white bullet towards Crowley. Crowley dropped, as if falling through a surface of a pool. Above him, the serpent – all its rippling scales of bots shimmering – lunged and struck at Gabriel, swallowing him whole.

Flame and smoke billowed out, slices of light cutting through the roiling robotic snake, and behind him, Aziraphale heard the hum of an engine.

“All right?” Crowley hissed beside his ear. “Don’t move.”

Around Aziraphale’s body, the twisted metal spars popped loose one by one.

A boom from above made him look up. Gabriel! Breaking free of the bots! He swung, eyes blazing ice-white, the blade of it slicing into the side of the dome.

Aziraphale gasped in panic as the dome splintered under him. “Crowley!”

The stonework dropped away as the last of the metal spars broke free and Aziraphale fell with the tumbling roof, dropping into the cavernous hall under the–

A scooter – what on earth?? – whizzed up underneath him and he landed – painfully akimbo – on the seat behind Crowley.

“Gotcha!” Crowley growled, grabbing his arm and pulling him close.

The scooter shot into the air, fire spurting from the engines, and – gasping in pain – Aziraphale clung onto Crowley’s waist as they arced out of the smouldering ruins of the dome and through the smoke.

“I knew you’d come back,” Aziraphale rasped against Crowley’s spiked shoulder.

“That makes one of us!” Crowley exclaimed. “Hang on!”

Aziraphale clung tighter, flinching as huge pieces of masonry whirled passed them on either side, crashing and rolling across the streets. He risked a glance back and immediately wished he hadn’t, as Gabriel lobbed another huge piece of the shattered dome straight at them.

“Left!” he howled in Crowley’s ear. “Quick!”

Crowley obeyed, swinging into a side street and ducking lower over the handlebars, swooping down between the buildings.

“What’s the plan?”

Crowley shot a frantic look back at him. “Mostly, it involves _not_ dying!”

Aziraphale laughed unsteadily. “I like that plan!” He glanced back and wrenched Crowley’s right shoulder. Crowley, mercifully, understood, and veered right in time to dodge another shrapnel missile.

Around them, the streets were narrowing, away from the business district and town hall. They were bottlenecking, getting too closed in with nowhere to turn.

Behind them, Gabriel appeared at the far end of the street, hovering, unmoving.

Aziraphale stared back at him. “What is he–” He saw Gabriel open his mouth, drawing a breath. “Oh _fuck_! Tornado! Crowley! Tornado!”

“Shit!” Crowley swayed the scooter wildly from side to side as Gabriel sent a blasting gust of air down the street after them, tearing up bins and trees as it came.

Aziraphale felt Crowley’s fingers on his wrist a split second before Crowley wrenched his grip loose and spun the scooter through 180 degrees.

The momentum sent Aziraphale hurtling off the bike and _somehow_ , the blessed man managed to have him land on the awning over a shop. The heavy canvas gave way instantly, but it was enough to break his fall before he hit the ground

He could only watch in horror as the swirling vortex of wind caught Crowley and the scooter and whipped them away up the street. He didn’t activate his bubble defence! There was nothing to shield him as Crowley and the scooter smashed through a shopfront, glass and metal shattering around him. Aziraphale cried out in panic, staggering to his feet. Only approaching footsteps stopped him from running.

Breathing hard, he turned to face Gabriel, who gave him a chilly smile.

“Like I said, I’m going to have fun showing you what I’m capable of.”

A searingly hot blade of light from his eyes cut into the road, slicing towards Aziraphale, tarmac smouldering and bubbling.

“Go on,” he said. “Run. See if you’re faster than the speed of light.”

Aziraphale stared defiantly at him, heart thundering. If he was going to die, surely it was better to face it head on. Better that than running and praying Gabriel didn’t torment him for hours like a cat with a mouse. “I think not.”

“Look who grew a backbone!” Gabriel paused beside a car, considering it. “I think I’ll crush it.”

He swatted the car, a ton of glass and steel flipping and rolling. Aziraphale recoiled, panicked, but there was nowhere to go, and even if he tried to dodge it now, even if he tried to get to one of the buildings–

Something – someone – dropped down in front of him. The tumbling ball of metallic death seemed to split in two, screeching by on either side of them, sharp-edged metal screaming by so close that Aziraphale – shaking – could feel the sparks dance across his face.

“Now _that_ is what I call parallel parking.”

Aziraphale blinked dazedly at the white-and-gold figure in front of him. “D-Divine? You came back?”

Divine turned with a smile he’d never seen on her face before. “You were right, Aziraphale. I have to fix this.”

“Divine?” Oh thank God, Gabriel at last sounded rattled.

“Oh, so you’re my new antagonist, are you?” She spun back to face him and tilted her head. “Really, kiddo, gold and white? You don’t have an original bone in your body, do you?” Aziraphale heard the impressive crunch as she cracked her knuckles. “Time for a little divine intervention, wouldn’t you say, ‘Archangel’?”

Gabriel gave a strangled squeak, then turned and shot off into the air, a streak of white and gold.

Divine laughed and took off after him, darting across the sky like a flash of lightning.

For a moment, Aziraphale could only stare, catching his breath. Somewhere nearby, a broken window fell loose, shattering and stirring him from his daze. Around him, the street lay in disarray, glass and metal and destroyed shopfronts in every direction and…

“Crowley!” he gasped, turning and limping in the direction of the smashed scooter and its owner.

The front of the shop had completely caved in, broken glass sparkling across the floor like stars, and tangled in a mess of fabrics and the remains of the counter, Crowley sagged, breathing hard, one arm twisted at a strange angle by his side.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale hurried to him, pulling aside the pieces of metal and wood. “Oh Lord…” He stumbled to his knees, cautiously patting the man down. “Are you badly hurt? Do you think you can walk?”

“Sorry,” Crowley whispered. “I did what I could.”

Aziraphale reached for his uninjured hand, squeezing it gently. “I know you did, darling. You did so well. A real hero.”

Crowley laughed weakly, cracked with pain. “No.” He knocked his wrist against Aziraphale’s and light flickered around him, dissolving Crowley’s face and form and leaving behind–

“Eric?!” Oh no. Oh no, no, no. “But you–”

“Sleight of hand, Mr. Fell,” Eric whispered. “Misdirection. Needed someone who really scared him.”

Aziraphale stared out through the smashed shop front at the two blazing figures doing battle in the sky. “Oh, Crowley.”

_______________________________________

So far, it was working.

Crowley shifted his weight on the rocket boosters, speeding after Gabriel, using the super-magnet gloves to catch the cars that the man was hurling his way. As long as the disguise held and Gabriel’s imagination did the rest, it’d work.

“Now now,” he called out, “what did I always say about the destruction of property?” He juggled a couple of the cars in mid-air before swooping down and replacing them – undamaged – in their parking spaces along the road. “And here I was thinking you were such a clever boy.” A blast from the lazer panel fitted to his helmet hit Gabriel with enough force to send him bouncing and rolling into the plaza.

“You were dead!” Gabriel howled, scrambling up on his hands and knees. His perfect hair was in disarray, his white suit smudged with dirt. “I was just trying to fill yours shoes!”

Crowley descended, Divine’s cape flaring around him. “No,” he said, grateful for the fact that the disguise masked the way his hands were shaking. “You just made yourself some cheap knock-off.” He alighted on the ground, legs quivery. “You’re done, Gabriel. Do you understand me?”

“Sure, yeah, no problem.” He jerked his thumbs. “I’ll just… yeah…” He shot off, the sonic boom of his departure shattering windows as he vanished into the distance.

Around the plaza, scattered cheers rose from the people.

“Divine!” A group rushed towards him, smiling. Well, that was a new experience. “You’re back!”

“Um,” he told them, smiling like she did and nodding as he scanned the plaza, searching for–

“Boss!”

Crowley whipped around, relief washing through him at the sight of Eric hobbling towards him, leaning heavily on Aziraphale. He so very nearly hadn’t caught up with them, only just getting there in time to stop Gabriel squishing Aziraphale. “You’re all right!”

Eric gave a wavering thumbs up with the arm slung over Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Mr. Fell says I need a hospital for my arm.”

“And your head and your ribs,” Aziraphale huffed. “Honestly.” He gently set Eric down on the nearest bench and hurried closer, staring up at Crowley. Properly up. The rocketboots helped. A few extra inches there. “Is that really you in there, Crowley?”

Crowley self-consciously tilted his watch. “Old habits.”

The bloody angel smiled. “You don’t need it anymore,” he said, touching the dial.

The cheers and excitement gave way to a shocked sussuration of gasps and at least one scream, as the mask dissolved, leaving Crowley balancing precariously on his rocket boots, more exposed than he’d ever been. Not even a cape or spiky collar to hide behind.

“There,” Aziraphale said, sounding proud as punch. “Much better.”

“Ngh!” Crowley reproached him.

“Oh shut up, darling,” Aziraphale retorted. “Take your praise like a hero.”

Crowley grunted a “shaddup” and gently booted him in the ankle.

A crack like thunder made them both jump, windows shattering all around the plaza. Someone screamed in panic nearby. And directly overhead, resplendent in fresh white and gold, Gabriel sneered down at them. “You think I’m _that_ dumb?”

“Oh,” Crowley croaked. “Shit.”

Aziraphale grabbed his arms, shoving him. “Go! Run! Now!”

“Right!” Crowley kicked off with his boots, shooting into the air again. Distract him. Lure him away. Get him out of the plaza and away from anyone and everyone else. He sped into the maze of streets and screeched as a sizzle of one of Gabriel’s wildly aimed lazer-blasts seared inches over his head.

“You can’t win this, Serpent!” Gabriel bellowed behind him.

“Haven’t lost yet!” Crowley howled back. Spinning. He could spin, couldn’t he? That’d make him harder to hit.

But then, Gabriel had always been shit at target practise, so maybe flying straight was the best way to go.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

“How’d’you know it was me?” he shouted back. “You seemed pretty convinced!”

A whoosh of air over him sent him tumbling and he slammed into the side of a building, flip flopping across the wall a few times before shakily shoving himself back into the air.

“My people called.”

A shadow whiffled down from above and Crowley lunged sideways with a gasp as a car hurtled through the air where he had been a split-second before. He barely managed to stabilise himself, getting only a dozen metres before a shaft of searing light sheared across his back.

The engine of the rocket boosters sputtered and he squeaked in alarm throwing himself sideways into the nearest wall, scrabbling at it as his rocket boots guttered and flamed and died. He caught on a window ledge, clung, but the stone gave way. Three storeys, three windows. Shoddy architecture, he thought wildly as they gave way under his hands, one after another, until he crashed through an awning and landed across a coffee table on his back.

Aching all over, he took gulping breaths, but didn’t move. Moving meant Gabriel would know he was still alive, which meant he’d come down and if he could hold off for a few seconds, make a plan…

Right. Right. He could see Gabriel’s shadow, hovering above, waiting. He tilted his head, squinting. Weapons? From the crackling and sizzling from the pack and boots, they were done. Shops, then. Somewhere to find at least _something_ he could use.

He squinted blearily at the buildings he could see, a pained giggle escaping him. I. P. Freely, the plumber. Heh. Right next door to Squids In, a fishmongers. Useless, but good names. If he got out alive, he’d have to remember…

Remember!

Holy shit!

Those were the names! The memorable names! Where he’d left the car!

He yanked on the buckle of the harness, slithering free from it, slowly shifting onto his side. Right. The shops were there, which meant…

He scanned the street, searching for an empty spot, or at least somewhere that seemed to have nothing in it. Or in this case, where litter had blown up against nothing, and grinned. Oh _yes_.

The sound of his rocket boots hitting the pavement was deafening, but he was already running as fast as he could, sweat streaking down his back, half-expecting to feel the burst of plasma hit him in the back.

“Ha!” Gabriel swooped down, but bastard had a tell. And also a shadow on the wall. Didn’t realise his trajectory and intention were written up for Crowley to see and lunge sideways to avoid. Gabriel’s fist ploughed wrist-deep into the tarmac and Crowley dived forward, groping along the side of the car.

There! Yes! Handle!

He yanked the door open, throwing himself inside and scrabbled in the backseat for the defuser. Switched it from infuse to defuse, turned the control and _[warming up]_ flashed up on the charge screen.

“SHIT!” Crowley wailed. “ERIC!”

Metal crunched inwards above him.

“I know you’re in there,” Gabriel snarled, reaching for the door. Crowley stared around, then threw himself at the door, clinging onto the handle.

Not much use, really.

Gabriel tore the door off like it was made of paper, but conveniently, yanked Crowley out with it, hidden behind the invisible panel. He frantically jiggled the defuser, but it just inched up towards 88% ready.

Unfortunately, Gabriel definitely wasn’t as dumb as he sometimes looked. A solid punch to the chassis shattered the invisibility controller and the mask flickered out, leaving Crowley staring down at Gabriel through the window of the passenger door. Awkwardly, he wagged his fingers in a wave.

Gabriel smiled chillingly at him. “So you like pretending to fly, do you, snake-boy?” he sneered. “Let’s see how far you go.”

He drew back his arm and hurled the door – Crowley and all – as hard as he could, into the sky.

Panic went out the window. Not much you could do, hurtling through the air to your death. Not when you were all out of options and your stupid gun-thing wasn’t working and you didn’t even have your usual defence mechanism to prevent imminent splatting. Typical, the one time he needed the buggering bubble, he’d had too many other weapons attached to his outfit to squeeze it in.

Crowley arced up high over the buildings and yep. There it was. The plaza. Splatting in public for maximum – ha – impact. And there, running towards the place he would land – if his trajectory held true – was a tiny, pale-headed figure.

Aziraphale. Trying to save him. Who’d’ve thought? Well. At least if he was landing near Aziraphale, he could get the defuser to him. Poor bugger needed _something_ to use against Gabriel. He pulled it closer, wrapping his body around it and curled in tight to protect it.

The air rushed around him, closer and closer to impact.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted. “Crowley!”

He risked a peek, saw Aziraphale, hand on his wrist. On his watch. No! Not his watch! Eric’s watch.

“Yes!” Crowley croaked, face wibbling in the wind. “Angel!”

He was close enough to see the defiant beam of Aziraphale’s smile as he hit the watch and the bubble flared around him. Close enough to laugh a split second before he hit the surface of the bubble and feel it gently collapsed like a soggy flan, dropping him straight into Aziraphale’s arms.

“No!” Gabriel’s cry of fury was followed by an oh-so-familiar boom of sound and Crowley unfurled to see the man hurtling towards him. Close enough, in fact, for him to whip up the defuser and shove it straight into his stupid face and _pull_ the trigger.

Gabriel recoiled back with a shout that turned into a wail and gradually into a stifled muffle whine, as he crumpled to his knees, his costume sagging loosely around him.

“What–” He stared down at himself, then jabbed a finger at Crowley. “Get him! Get it back from him.”

And that was when Crowley realised he’d crash-landed in the middle of a hoard of humans wearing Archangel merchandise. Definitely not the best time to be holding Gabriel’s stolen powers in his hand and Aziraphale was completely trapped inside the deflated mess of the bubble, fighting to break out through the escape flap.

He spotted an opening in the circle and bolted for it, hobbling on his aching leg. If he smashed the gun before they reached it, it’d all be over, though lifting his arms felt like a mission and a half. He managed to get it above his head, but as he swung it down, someone grabbed his arm, and somebody else bore him to the ground from behind.

“Geroff!” he howled, kicking and squirming as much as he could, pulling the defuser tight against his chest and keeping his hands over the trigger.

“Get him!” Gabriel rasped out again. “Take it–”

A wet, meaty thump made Crowley’s assailants pause and he glanced over to see Aziraphale standing over the prone Gabriel, wincing and rubbing his fist. Their eyes met and Aziraphale darted a glance to the weapon in Crowley’s hands, one that was rapidly being wrested away from him.

“Crowley!” His voice was sharp as a whipcrack, and he spread his arms wide. “Do it!”

Heart thundering in his chest, Crowley gathered what strength he had left and wrenched the defuser free. Or – if he was to be accurate – infuser. Swung the muzzle, pointed it at Aziraphale, and pulled the trigger.

Unlike Gabriel, the moment the capsule hit Aziraphale, he started to glow.

“Get the gun!” the bald man holding Crowley shouted, yanking viciously on Crowley’s arm. “Take it back! Take the pow–”

A clang made the man’s grip loosen and Crowley twisted, confused. The bald man reeled back, clutching his head, a red lump visible between his fingers.

Newt from the bookshop was standing over them, wielding one of the signs from the roadworks in his hand. “Back off!” he shouted, voice shaking. “You leave him alone!”

Two people broke from the group pinning Crowley and lunged for Newt instead, bearing him down with a yelp. Someone screamed from across the square and started running towards them.

“Give me that!” One of the women on top of Crowley twisted her fingers around his, pulling hard until something cracked.

Pain scorched through him, but Aziraphale wasn’t done yet. Not ready. Couldn’t undo him. Couldn’t let them take it. “No!” He curled himself more tightly around it. “No, you’re not getting it!”

That, he realised in hindsight, was a bad idea, outnumbered as he was with no space to wriggle out. They started punching and kicking and best he could do was curl up as tight as possible, one arm tight around the defuser, the other wrapped around his head.

Squinting under his arm, he saw the bald man swing back his leg, a kick aimed right at Crowley’s head.

“I think not!”

Something hit the bald man with a meaty thump, sending him sprawling.

“Crowley, dear, stay down.”

Crowley nodded, curling tighter, but wasn’t enough when the wind tore at him, ripping his assailants off him and sending them bouncing and rolling across the plaza. He rolled with them, skidding to a panting halt when the wind died as suddenly as it had started.

“Get him!”

Get who? Didn’t know. Didn’t care. Protecting the defuser. Keeping it safe. Just kicked and rolled away from everyone who tried to come near him. Shouts of surprise nearby. Yells. Crashes of people hitting the ground.

And over him, a shadow.

“I’ll take that, darling. Save them the trouble,” Aziraphale said gently. He plucked the defuser from Crowley’s hands and smiled. “I think we know how to put them off a bit, don’t you?”

Crowley squinted at him. “Eh?”

With no effort whatsoever, Aziraphale crushed the defuser into a ball. He tossed it aside with a clatter and reached down to help Crowley shakily to his feet, smiling pleasantly around at the mess of sprawling, reeling people wearing the Archangel logo.

“Now,” he said, his stormy eyes growing bright as lightning, “does anyone else have any matters they want to raise with me, or are we going to behave ourselves?” Gabriel’s followers seemed to recognise what that brightness in Aziraphale’s eyes meant and legged it. Aziraphale nodded in satisfaction and glanced at Crowley. “Are you all right?”

“Ngh,” he confirmed, even though everything was hurting and he felt like he might fall over. He peered around, trying to spot the man who had very nearly killed them both. “S’he alive?”

Aziraphale pointed to a prone figure lying in a heap on the ground, twitching. “I believe so.”

With effort, Crowley tugged him to start moving in that direction. They passed Newt, who was being patched up by his ladyfriend.

“Told you!” she called after them. “Angels rise. _Angels_. Plural!”

“Wassat?” Crowley inquired groggily.

“Never mind her nonsense, dear,” Aziraphale demurred, helping him onwards to finally reached the ruin that had been Archangel.

“Oi.” Crowey prodded Gabriel with his toe.

“You!” Gabriel gurgled, reaching out weakly to strike him, but falling back uselessly.

“Me,” he agreed, leaning heavily on Aziraphale. “And him.”

“Give me back my powers!”

Crowley snorted, trying to ignore the blackness crowding the edge of his vision. “ _His_ powers.” He smiled fuzzily at Aziraphale. “Proper hero. Proper angel too.”

“Oh, shush,” Aziraphale huffed and stooped, scooping Crowley’s jelly legs from under him. “You must have a concussion. Let’s get you to an ambulance. The police can deal with him.”

With his head propped on the warm, solid bulk of Aziraphale’s shoulder, Crowley hummed in agreement. Funny, though, Aziraphale hadn’t changed shape. Still same as before. No dorito-hero for him. “You look the same,” he mumbled, eyes drooping closed.

“Of course I do, darling,” Aziraphale’s voice was drifting away with Crowley’s consciousness. “It’s what inside that counts.”

“Yeah,” Crowley mumbled, “and deep down inside, you’re a bit of a bastard.”

As his head lolled onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, he felt more than heard the other man laugh. “Which works out quite well,” his deep, warm voice said, “since deep down inside, you’re really quite nice.”

Yeah. Worked out quite well.

__________________________________

**Three months later**

The weather had turned, the blustery morning showers giving way to a pleasant golden autumn afternoon, the air crisp and fresh, certainly warm enough for the gathered throng in front of the rebuilt town hall. It had been repaired remarkably fast, but then when you had an entire army of obedient and skilful cloned AI shrubberies at your disposal and thousands of bots to back them up, of course it would go a little faster.

Likewise, the new public transport infrastructure was coming on leaps and bounds. They even had a new monorail halfway to construction, as well as some green spaces allocated for new parks and duck ponds, funded entirely by an entirely ridiculous anonymous donation.

To the side of the building, well away from the crowds, Aziraphale watched with amusement. Small children were lined up close to the front, some of them in tiny Serpent costumes with their faces painted with scales.

“Wish you’d let me make you a costume,” Eric grumbled at his elbow.

“I hardly think I’d look good in tights,” Aziraphale replied with a small smile. It had been an ongoing battle ever since he’d assumed Divine’s powers, which often meant he came down to breakfast to find a new design laid out beside Crowley’s carefully-made scrambled eggs.

“Doesn’t have to be tights! It just looks much more dramatic if you put on a cape or _something_!”

He shook his head sternly. “I feel it has much more impact for people to see that I’m still the same person I was. You know that.”

Eric lapsed into unintelligible grousing, folding his arms huffily over his chest.

Aziraphale glanced around the side of the building, then checked his watch. The Mayor was in the middle of his speech, celebrating the renewal of the city and the funds reclaimed from Gabriel West’s corporate sponsorship to repair the damage he had done.

Behind him, he heard Eric’s watch chirp and, right on time, a shadow dropped out of the sky, dramatic music and flashing lights illuminating the plaza.

“Oh you thought the damage was done, did you?” Crowley’s voice boomed out.

Throughout the crowd, there were cheers and boos and laughter. Small children in the front rows squealed in delight, waving their plastic defuser toys.

Aziraphale squashed down a smile, watching indulgently as Crowley whizzed over the crowd on his rocket boots, shouting taunts and swirling his billowing cape dramatically. He did so love to play the wicked fiend. Improvising as well. He was very good at it, all the banter and the mischief.

Only when he swooped down towards the mayor did Aziraphale step around the edge of the building, walking up the steps at a leisurely pace, his hands folded in front of him.

“O-ho!” Crowley wheeled up, hovering above him. “What have we here? The librarian? Sorry, friend, I don’t read books!”

“Really, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, trying his utmost not to smile, “one would imagine you enjoyed… oh what was that lovely phrase? Ah yes! Getting played for a sucker!”

Frankly, it was delightful how red Crowley’s face went.

“You’re the one who _sucks_ , angel!” he exclaimed, as if that was anything at all to be embarrassed about. Aziraphale only gave him an amused look and deliberately licked the corner of his mouth, which made Crowley’s face flame even more.

“I think these lovely people have had quite enough of your nonsense, don’t you?”

Crowley – of course – did a dramatic snaking loop in the air to a dramatic fanfare from his bots. “Oh, I’m just getting warmed up.”

Aziraphale tilted his head and winked, sending a pinpoint precise bolt of light at one of Crowley’s boots. The rocket mechanism sputtered and crackled, leaving Crowley spinning in circles on his surviving boot.

“Oi!”

“Overheated a bit, did you?” Aziraphale inquired mildly as Crowley wobbled helplessly overhead, then drew a breath and shot a targeted gust at the other boot, snuffing it out.

Crowley squeaked and dropped like a rock, as Aziraphale leapt into the air and snatched him up under his back and knees. Crowley clung onto him at once, grin plastered all over his face.

“Played for sucker, indeed,” he muttered for Aziraphale’s ears only. “You complete bastard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aziraphale chuckled, then raised his voice, “Since you’re here and in my clutches, you can make yourself useful.” He spun them around, making sure the crowd could still see them both. “The ribbon, if you please.”

With a flourish, Crowley whipped out a lazer gun and fired, severing the ribbon strung across the doorway to the townhall.

“Satisfied?” he murmured, giving Aziraphale’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Not _yet_.”

Crowley went charmingly pink again. “Bastard.”

“Thank you, darling.” Aziraphale gave him a gentle squeeze, then called out to their audience again, “Ladies, gentlemen and everyone else, we are proud to say your town hall is – once more – open.”

Below them, the crowd whooped and cheered and he exchanged a smile with Crowley.

“Dinner, angel?” Crowley inquired, idly tugging at the seam of Aziraphale’s jacket.

“In or out?”

Golden eyes met his. “Gentleman’s choice?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help smiling at him. In the past three months, he never ceased to be amazed by Crowley’s capacity for indulgent generosity and little tokens and gifts, every one of them clearly thought out and designed exactly for him.

“First,” he said, then raised his voice deliberately. “I ought to get you back where you belong!”

Some of the tiny children booed and howled in outrage.

“There’s my little brats!” Crowley yelled, waving down at them. “Don’t worry! I’ll escape again soon!”

“Ha!” Aziraphale shifted Crowley’s weight, holding him securely, and surged upwards into the sky, revelling in the way Crowley caught his breath and clung more tightly onto him, his ridiculous black cloak fluttering around both of them.

Below them, the city dropped away, and above them, the sky was clear and blue and scudded with clouds. Perfectly romantic, if you liked that kind of thing. And Aziraphale had learned, to his surprise, that he really did. It was all so very different from being carried by a hero doing their job, the feel of a cherished friend cradled close to him, trusting him without question.

“Eric was making noises about the cape again,” he murmured as they soared out in the direction of their perfectly lovely little cottage outside of the city, somewhere private and personal and where they had got to know one another so much better.

“Pfft.” Crowley nuzzled his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “You’re not nicking my look. I’m the suave, snappy dresser in this relationship.”

“Of course you are, dear.” Aziraphale bit down on a smile.

“Oi!” Crowley swatted his shoulder. “Cheeky bastard.” He lifted his head. “I can still make a new defuser, angel. If you want.”

Alone above the busyness of the city, dancing on wisps of cloud, his dear Crowley cradled in his arms, Aziraphale shook his head. “No, darling,” he said, nudging Crowley’s brow with his own. “I think our own side is perfect just as it is.”

Crowley’s slashed pupils widened and he brought up a hand to cup Aziraphale’s cheeks, the rasp of his scaly fingertips soft against Aziraphale’s skin. “You’re so soft.”

“Alas,” Aziraphale agreed fondly, tilting his head into Crowley’s touch. “I really am.”

“I like it,” Crowley told him, then stole the smile from his lips with a kiss.


End file.
